


The Future's Calling, and It's not Pretty

by StormStuff



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-Typical Worms (The Magnus Archives), I'll tag more as i think of it, Monster!Jon, Paranoia, Time Travel Fix-It, Two martins!, because of course they are, for a certain definition of fix it, slightly unhinged future!Martin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:00:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 87,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26923999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormStuff/pseuds/StormStuff
Summary: "Oh, shut up," the doppelganger said, crying and laughing. He looked like Martin, but that couldn't be right because Martin was watching this all unfold. "Now, I'm sorry to just pop in, but I have no clue how long I was in the halls - yes, I know you know - so I'm probably about to pass out. Sorry."True to his word, he slumped down against the wall. Somewhere, a tape recorder clicked off."Alright," Tim said when the silence got uncomfortable, "We're not going to try and pretend that wasn't supernatural, right?"(or, a time travel au, but this time with monster!Jon)
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, future Martin & everyone
Comments: 563
Kudos: 1007





	1. Okay, we're not pretending this is normal, right?

_ “You don’t have to do this, you know.” Jon says, static in the air and in his voice. _

_ Martin just chuckles. “If you thought that you wouldn’t have brought this up.” Something, fabric, a backpack, shifts. “If there’s a chance that this will work, I’ll do it.” _

_ “It will.” Jon says. “The transfer, at least. After that, it’s all on you.” _

_ “On us.” _

_ One, single laugh. It’s not a happy sound, “Sure.” there’s an uncomfortable pause, several started but aborted sentences. “I wouldn’t be offended.” he says, “If you leave me behind.” _

_ “That’s not an option.” Martin says, “We either do this together, or not at all.” _

_ “But, you have your happy ending. You don’t need to do this.” _

_ Martin shakes his head, “Maybe so,” he decides on, “But doing this, we could help. Maybe even make things better. Hell, we might get to enjoy the rewards of our sacrifices for once.” _

_ “You’re set on this?” _

_ “Yes.” _

_ “Then, let’s go.” _

* * *

“Jon?” Martin knocked on the door and stuck his head in, “I’m going to make tea. You want any?”

“Sure,” Jon waved him off, not even really processing what he was hearing. He was glaring at his computer and gnawing on his pen.

Another problem statement, then. They’d figured out to just record the fussy statements on tape a while ago, but Jon clearly still wasn’t happy with it. He’d loudly complained that the point of digitizing the archives was to lessen the amount of documents floating around, not increase it, but he was mostly blowing smoke. He always clicked on the tape eventually.

Martin, at this point, had making tea down to an art. Start the kettle, get down the mugs and do a little dance while he waited for the water to finish heating up. Then, normally his process would involve steeping the tea while he got out the milk and sugars, but today his process was interrupted.

A door loudly creaked open. Martin turned around, but it wasn’t behind him. It sounded like it was in the Archives proper - and that meant it must have been very loud. Tim had to yell in order to be heard in the break room from the archives.

(And he did. Very often.)

Martin decided to abandon the tea and go to investigate. He wound up carrying one of the mugs with him, though he couldn’t tell if it was supposed to be a weapon or an offer.

Tim and Sasha had both stood up from their seats, staring at something along the same wall as the break room door. Martin hovered at the threshold, trying to decide to make himself known or not, when Tim noticed him.

“Holy shit.” was all he said, glancing between Martin and the wall.

Then another voice interrupted, “Oh my god,” it whispered, nearly silent.

“What the hell?” Sasha asked.

Then whoever the other voice was started laughing - giggling? - cackling? - it wasn’t normal sounding laughter. “It worked,” they said between gasps, “It really worked. I told you so,” at this point, it sounded more like they were crying.

Martin entered the room then, slowly peeking his head around the corner.

He saw himself standing along the wall, leaning against it for support. He was wearing worn jeans and a jumper, and sturdy hiking boots. He had a big canvas backpack and a pair of earbuds on as well. He didn’t look too old physically, but he looked ancient emotionally.

Also, was that really what his voice sounded like?

“What worked?” Tim demanded, steel underlining all his words. Martin crossed the room quickly to stand next to him. It felt really weird to watch himself go red in the face from distressed laughter.

The office door chose that moment to open, Jon leaned his head out, “Good Lord people, what is going on out here?” before he too went silent and just stared.

Now the weird doppelganger was definitely crying. Very awkward.

“No, shut up, shut up.” the doppelganger whispered, though it was hard to tell who he was talking to. Then he took a few deep breaths and stood up straighter. “Alright, I’m sorry to just pop in like this. And I know you have questions and I’d love to answer them, but I have no clue how long I was in the hallways - yes I know you know - and I’m going to pass out now.”

He then proceeded to slump over and slide down the wall. Somewhere, a tape recorder stopped its gentle whir.

Martin had to give it to him, at least he had follow through.

Also, there was no way that person was Martin.

“There’s no way that’s Martin, right?” Sasha said. “Like, at all?”

“Yes, quite.” Jon came out of his office to join them in staring at the stranger from a healthy distance.

Tim was the first to break the uncomfortable silence, “Alright, just to make sure, we’re not going to pretend that’s not supernatural, right?”

Sasha shook her head, “It’s either shapeshifters or time travel or something.”

“Yes, I-” Jon said, “I don’t think there’s anything else this could be.”

Tim laughed, “I don’t know if that’s comforting or concerning.”

“A bit of both, I think.” Sasha said.

“Alright, so what’s the plan?” Martin asked. He still hadn’t looked away from the weird lump of a man on the floor. That was quite a feat, considering Jon was in the room and not cross with him. “I, I don’t really like just leaving… it here. In the middle of everything.”

“I have a cot in document storage,” Jon said, “We could put it there until we have a better plan. That door locks.”

Martin had things to say about sleeping at work, but it was neither the time nor the place.

Sasha nodded, “And the door’s quite sturdy.” she said.

“All in favor of locking the thing behind a sturdy door?” Tim asked.

Everyone agreed.

* * *

It took them a little while to get the doppelganger into document storage, mainly because everyone was trying to help at once and the law of diminishing returns kicked in. Then they had the fun experience of trying to put a cot together without instructions - apparently Jon had only bought a cot, never actually used it. He’d still managed to lose the instructions, though.

There were a few points where they considered not leaving the thing with a cot at all, but that just felt weird.

“Okay fine,” Sasha caved and admitted, “It would feel a bit too much like leaving Martin out in the cold for my tastes.” they were all having a post-doppelganger-removal break over tea and the special biscuits.

All except Jon, at least, who had disappeared into his office and shut the door. But by this point, everyone expected that of him.

“Maybe that’s its plan,” said Tim, “Look like Martin so that we can’t do anything to him.” he slung an arm around Martin’s shoulders. He was beginning to realize Tim was actually just a huggy person. It was nice.

“True,” Sasha nodded, “You, I could ditch in the street no remorse. Martin, it would feel like kicking a puppy.”

“Oh, c’mon guys.” Martin said, “I don’t think it’s that deep.”

Sasha shrugged, “I’d rather assume it’s too deep and have fun red-stringing than get surprised later.”

“But,” Martin countered, “You could get yourself too sucked down the rabbit hole to notice any suspicious happenings. What if that’s part of the plan?”

Sasha nodded, “You make an excellent point there.”

Tim hummed, “But what if that’s just what it wants you to think?”

“Another excellent point there.”

Jon knocked on the break room door frame. “Meeting in my office.” he said, then walked away without even waiting for them to respond.

They shrugged and left their things on the table. Martin sealed the pack of biscuits before he left, though, it wouldn’t do for them to go stale.

Jon’s office, though never the tidiest of places, was now thoroughly combed through. There were open boxes and papers all across the floor, and a corkboard in the corner. Martin was pretty sure it was the one that was supposed to be in the main room to share updates on.

“So what’s the plan, Boss?” Tim asked, sitting himself on the arm of the spare chair.

“Well, my plan  _ was _ to see if any of the statements could manage to be helpful,” he walked around the piles of boxes to sit in his chair, “But once again Gertrude is sabotaging us from beyond the grave.”

Sasha snickered, thumbing through a stack of papers. “So you’re admitting that the statements are true, then?”

“I mean, certainly not all of them. And, there’s nothing out there to even prove that what just happened wasn’t some unique event. But,” he trailed off and looked around the room, “I’d like to think that we’re not that special.”

Martin nodded at that, “And what’s the plan?”

“Go through statements?” Tim suggested. It was a pretty obvious option.

“But there’s so many,” Martin said, even in just the office there were so many. All unlabelled and unsorted, and a good many with only cryptic descriptions. The archives proper were even worse.

“Better than doing nothing,” Sasha said.

“Yes, that was my plan.” Jon said, “I think with all of us looking, we might be able to find something.”

Tim hummed and hawed for a minute. Then he stood from his precarious perch, “Do you want me to run to the shops and get us some red string?”

* * *

Martin and Sasha went into the stacks together. “I’ll take left, you take right?” she asked.

“I don’t have a better idea.” so they split up. 

Martin went to the very edge of the room and decided to work his way in. He'd just cracked open one box and started to read the descriptions, when he noticed the fuzzy white noise wasn’t the normal background noise.

It was a tape recorder, spinning and crackling. Martin abandoned his current box, and followed the sound. After a couple steps, one recorder clicked off and another clicked on. He followed that recorder a few more steps along, before it too clicked off.

He stood in silence for a moment, before a recorder clicked on further along in the stacks. This continued, the recorders always appearing just out of his sight. Soon, he was standing in front of a box that was humming rather insistently. It sounded like there was more than one recorder in it.

Now, logic said not to open the box. Considering the ambient creepiness of the archives, paired with the recent acute weirdness, opening this box could very well be the thing that gets him killed off first. But after standing there for a moment with no company but the sound of the tape spooling, he decided to trust it.

There were five tape recorders inside the box, and they waited until Martin had fully removed the lid to turn off. Inside and below the small mountain was a small pile of three statements, so he pulled them out, and thumbed through them. They all seemed to be related. It’s a true testament to the lack of organization in the archives that something appearing organized was suspicious.

“Sash?” Martin called out, “I think I have something.”

“Do you?” Sasha asked, “I’m coming over there, what is it?”

Martin decided to also make his way to the exit, “Well, it’ll sound weird, but it’s more of a feeling?” he found her again at the doorway.

“I’m willing to go along with a feeling at this point,” Sasha said, “What is it?”

“These were all together,” Martin said, “And they’re all about the same thing. I didn’t read deeper, but…”

“That’s mighty suspicious, I agree.” Sasha said. “Let’s go to the main room?”

“Sure.” Sasha smiled, and they walked down the hall without saying much of anything. Upon entering the room, she took the papers from him and waved them in the air, “Martin thinks he has something.”

“You do?” Jon seemed incredulous. He rushed to take one of the papers from Sasha. Martin took another one, and Sasha started to read as well. Martin flipped through the pages, but he wasn’t done talking just yet.

“Yeah,” Martin explained, “These statements were all together. And they’re all about the same building - a house I think? Hill Road, or something like that. I didn’t read much further, I just got a feeling.”

“What,” Tim laughed. He was twirling some red string around his fingers while he poked through boxes. He hadn’t been joking when he suggested going to the shops. “Is this the one thing that’s actually organized in this joint?”

“Seems like,” Sasha says, “We didn’t really read the statements, though.”

“It does seem a little strange,” Jon commented, obviously more reading than in the conversation, “That these were all together.”

“Yeah,” Martin said. He debated with the merits of explaining the weird stuff with the tape recorders. On the one hand that was weird, and probably part of this - whatever’s going on. On the other hand, Jon would deny it out of hand.

Screw it, things were already so weird, “Also, when I-”

Someone interrupted. It was Martin’s voice but not Martin. “Oh, sweet murder board.” 


	2. Sorry, I'm rambling again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some explanations, perhaps?

“You!” Tim hopped up from his perch. The red strings looked like a glove around his hand by this point.

“Yeah, what?” Martin asked and fiddled with his earbud. A burst of static came through the line.  _ They locked you in document storage. _ “Oh yeah, that door was locked, wasn’t it.” Suddenly he could actually remember the snick as he opened it. He just didn't care at the time.

“Yes, it was locked,” Jon - past Jon - said. He put down the statement, using a chewed up pen as a place marker. “How did you get out?”

Martin glanced around the room. All the archival staff - and christ they all looked so young and stupid - were glaring at him in varying stages of shock. “You do realize that the door unlocks from the inside, right? It’s a safety measure. The lock is more to keep things from getting in.”

Sasha - the real one, not that little wisp of a girl/monster - groaned and facepalmed. “Of course,” she said. “Why didn’t we think of that?”

Martin looked at the papers in their hands, “What are we reading?” he asked.

_ Ivo Lensik, Father Burroughs, Anya Villete. The Hill Top House starter pack. _

“Statements,” Jon - past Jon - said, ever the contrarian.

Martin went into the room, glanced at the statement on the desk. It was the Father Burroughs statement, all the parts of it from the size of the papers. “Where did you get all of that?” he asked.

“Uhm,” Past Martin, and it was really weird to be looking at his own stammering face, interrupted, “That’s what I was saying. The tape recorders sort of lead me to it?”

_ Yep. _

“You didn’t tell me that,” Sasha accused.

“That tracks.” Martin said.

“Wait a minute.” Tim stalked across the room to get in Martin’s face. For how big his personality was, he was actually shorter than Martin. He forgot that sometimes. “Why are we answering your questions? It should be the other way around.”

Martin thought that over, “Yeah fair enough.” he said. “But not here. There’s probably no way I can get you into the tunnels, though, so...”

_ They’re young and stupid, but not completely without sense. It’ll be fine, I'll handle it. _

“Tunnels?” Jon asked.

“We’ll get there, don’t worry.” Martin said, “Let’s talk about this in the break room. There’s enough seats for all of us. Bring things to take notes with.” Then he walked out without waiting for them to respond. They were too desperate for answers to do anything else.

“Okay,” Martin spun a chair around and sat in it backwards. Everyone else took their seats, Tim and Sasha on the couch, past Jon and Martin sitting in chairs. All of them angled themselves as far away from him as possible. “For your first question: Time travel.” because that really was the obvious one.

“Yeah, right.” Tim scoffed.

Martin took a deep breath. “I know you don’t believe me, but it’s true. We figured out a way to time travel. It involves the statements the tapes showed you.” he looked Tim in the eyes. “I’m not here with them. I’m here to stop them.”

“Who?” Sasha asked. Everyone looked at Tim.

“Nobody.” he said after a minute. Then, to Martin, “And if that’s true, you’re a bit too late.”

Martin shook his head. “I’m afraid I’m not. It gets worse.”

“Let’s say you can time travel.” Sasha said after a moment of silence. “Why would you?”

“And why you?” Jon asked, “Why alone?”

“Why: to avert the apocalypse.” he waited for the inevitable snickers and sounds of disbelief. “Please wait until the end of the story to voice your concerns for my sanity. And why me? I’m the only one left.”

“What do you mean, ‘only one left’?” Jon asked.

“The archives have a just terrible mortality rate.” Martin said. 

_ Well that’s one way to phrase it. _ Martin barely avoided a snicker.

“And, like I said before, apocalypse. There weren’t really many options. I think I’m actually the only one left  _ here  _ that still knows the full story.” He fiddled with his ring. The only one left here, but not alone. A burst of static came through his headphones to remind him of that fact.

“Are we really listening to this?” Tim asked, “It’s probably not even Martin. Just something here to imitate him. And it’s got it all wrong.”

Martin scoffed at that, “Oh yeah,” he said, “Because I’d definitely come out of the apocalypse the same as I went in.”

“Yeah, but,” Sasha said, “I am having a hard time figuring how  _ that _ turns into  _ that _ .” she pointed between the two different Martins. That was fair, he supposed. There had been a lot of character growth between then and now.

“Tim, I understand your reservations,” Martin said, “But I promise, I’m not a shapeshifter. Hell, if I was I’d have already disposed of the other one.”

“What?” Martin - past Martin - squeaked.

“Though, I know there’s nothing I can do to convince you. But I am promising now, I am here to help. I will not hurt you. I will be as truthful as I possibly can. And I’m going to do my damndest to give you a shot to blow up the circus.”

“Wait,” Jon interrupted, “Why are we blowing up a circus?”

“Fine,” Tim sat back. “I’ll play along. Though, I don’t see how I’d be able to stop you.”

“That’s all I can ask for. Now, where to start.” Martin mused. “Oh, just to make sure, are you all willing to suspend your disbelief on the time travel thing, or do I need to convince you more?”

“I’d like more proof, please.” said Jon. He leaned back in his chair and adjusted his glasses. Martin knew now that that was just one of his nervous ticks.

_ Mr. Spider. _

“Mr. Spider.” Martin repeated. When Jon went pale and stuttering, he just said, “You told me. Future, remember?”

“Wait, that’s enough for you?” Sasha said. When Jon nodded at her, she shrugged. “If you managed to shut up Mr. Skeptic here with a few words, that’s enough for me.”

_ Thank goodness. I don’t know this Sasha well enough to come up with anything quick enough. _

“Great,” Martin said.  _ Best to save the whole ‘you can’t leave’ thing until the very end. _ He rolled his eyes, like he needed to be informed of that. “So, to start it off, the whole Institute is just spooky.”

Tim had to scoff at that. “Because we didn’t know that.”

“More than just the vaguely creepy old building way, or evil capitalism way.” Martin said, “In this world there exist like 14 fear entities. You can call them gods if you want, that’s not exactly true but it’s close enough. If we’re calling them gods, then the Institute is a Temple to one of them.”

“What, did we join a cult?” Sasha asked. She was trying to joke around.

“Basically.” Martin shrugged. “Most of the true statements can be sorted into the fourteen categories, but there is quite a bit of overlap. What was that analogy? Like a color wheel? Where does something turn from green to turquoise to blue, type of thing.”

“And the circus is one of them?” Jon asked. Apparently, he’d gotten stuck on the circus thing.

“Yes, the Stranger, fear of the unknown and the uncanny.”

“Creepy clowns.” Sasha nodded sagely.

“Creepy clowns, creepy dolls, shapeshifters. The works.” Martin clarified. “There’s also the Spider. Manipulation, lack of control. A lot of addictions also fit under that domain as well. The Vast, heights and insignificance. The Dark, the Lonely, the Buried, about what it says on the tin. And so on. It’d get kinda boring for me to just sit here and ramble on to you, so I’ll make you, like, a monster manual later.”

“And is one of these fear domains time?” Sasha asked. Tim and Jon seemed a bit too out of it to have any decent follow up questions.

“Yes and no.” Martin said, “Time can kind of fit under a lot of these umbrellas. In this specific instance, I took advantage of the Spiral - fear of being crazy, the world is lying to you type thing. Well, and the Web. But it could just as easily be a Lonely, a Vast thing. Maybe it could fit into the Eye too? Sorry, I’ve been rambling, I’ve gotten a bad habit of over explaining everything recently.”

“What’s the Institute, then?” Jon asked, “You said it’s, like, a temple.”

“The Eye.” Martin said, “Fear of being watched, having your secrets known. Someone seeing and knowing what you’re going through and not helping. The statements feed the fear.” Martin leaned into his seat to watch their reaction. Then an idea wandered into his head, and he couldn’t help but voice it out loud, “I wonder if that’s why nobody who works in the archives is straight? Fear of being Known?”

_ Pfft. Wouldn’t put it past him, honestly. _

“I always said this place was soul sucking.” Tim said, “I didn’t expect it to be quite so literal.”

“And, I should probably warn you,” Martin said, “There are beings that aren’t human. Usually we call those manifestations of the entities. There are also beings that were humans, but aren’t anymore. We call them avatars. Usually they’re sustained by their respective entity, though that means they need to feed their entity to sustain it. They do get wicked powers as a bonus, though.”

_ Isn't that a bit over simplistic? _

“Well, yes that is a bit oversimplified.” Martin said. This was a conversation they’d had many times before, “But it’s the easiest way to explain it. There’s no easy dichotomy like I described it. It’s kinda more like a continuum. But we’re going with the easy explanation for now, alright?”

_ Alright, fair enough. _

“And how do we tell these beings apart from normal people?” Sasha asked.

Martin shrugged, “Usually they aren’t that different from normal people. Might feel a bit uncanny. Some also go around exalting their god, though I’d advise just avoiding those folks. I’ll get you a list of names to avoid. Most of them are pretty dangerous. A lot of them enjoy it, too.”

“And, people choose that?” Jon asked.

Martin hissed at that one.  _ Yes, a choice is made. _ “Well, yes but it’s kind of a choice made under duress for some.” he said, “Or a series of choices, but you don’t know the consequences of your actions. And then by the time you know what’s happening, it’s too late. But don’t get me wrong, there are some people who get into it knowing full well what’s happening.”

Martin gave a moment for that revelation to settle into the room.

“Well, I believe you should all go home now, get some rest.” He stood up himself, though he was just planning on getting himself a nice room in the tunnels to sleep in. “Also, don’t bother turning in your resignation letters, you’re stuck here until you gouge your eyes out. Goodnight.” 

He shut the door behind him and went around a few corners before he let himself laugh.  _ You just couldn’t resist doing that to them, could you? _

“Did you see their faces? How could I resist.” Martin said, fiddling with his earbuds. “And it’s for the best. This way, they can stew in it in the comfort of their own homes.”

_ Awful. You know they’re not going to sleep well. _

“D’you think they’d sleep well in any case?” nothing but the crackling of static. “That’s what I thought. I am curious, though, how did you distract Elias from all that?"

_ Conveniently timed computer problems. One of his spreadsheets may have gotten erased. _

"Oh no!" Martin feigned concern, "Serves him right. Speaking of it, though, I’ve got to requisition me a new laptop. Someone fried the one I brought with me. Maybe I should just get a typewriter? Just embrace the aesthetic.”

_ That was Helen, I swear. _

“Sure, blame the Distortion. I wonder if the card I nicked off of Peter will still work now?”

_ It should. He doesn’t update his information very often, or check on his financials. He has people for that, and they don’t care enough to report any suspicious activity. _

“Perfect. And we’re still going for the tunnels plan, right? With the amount on his account we could probably get a flat.”

_ Too many questions. _

“Fair, fair.”

Martin went to find the trapdoor, looking around at everything as he went, “It’s so weird, you know? After we burned it down, I never thought I’d see this place again. Kinda nostalgic, in a creepy way.”

_ To be fair, I think everything here is in a creepy way. _

“Yeah, but it’s the creepy I know.” Martin put down his bag and started rifling through it, “Like a certain someone I know?” he pulled out a heavy-duty torch and slung the bag back over his shoulder. He made sure not to snag his earbuds cord in anything as he swung the bag around. His earbuds remained firmly in his ears, and the tape recorded soundly in his pocket.

_ Yes, yes, fine. _

It took a moment to find the trapdoor in the dark. A thick layer of dust had settled over everything, and it truly did blend into the floor. It was less surprising, seeing it now, how it never got noticed before.

“Will you be fine in the tunnels?” Martin asked before going in.

_ Yes. Just keep the master tape on you, and it’ll all be fine. _

“Alright,” Martin started to climb down the ladder, “The sleeping bag should work for tonight, but let’s go cot shopping tomorrow? Or maybe an air mattress?”

_ We can get you whatever furniture for your creepy murder tunnels that you want. Just so long as we can carry it and not look like complete madmen loading it into a sewer. _

“Sorry, but I think that ships sailed. We’ll always look like madmen. Small price to pay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we go, that should wrap up some of the more logistics/explanation side of things for now. Next chapter we're getting plot.  
> Fun Fact: next chapter is about double the length of this chapter. There's something for yall to look forward to next week!  
> Thanks for reading!  
> Also, if you want to yell at me I'm @storm-does-stuff on tumblr!


	3. Yeah, But I'm Curious?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some new operating procedures are established.

Tim, Jon, Sasha and Martin - the real one, or at least the one from this timeline - met up the next morning before going to work. They met in a cafe across the street, and spent their conversation intermittently glaring at the Institute.

“So, are we going to believe it?” Sasha asked, “Or him, I suppose.”

“Either he’s telling the truth or he’s playing the long game.” said Tim, “Either way, I think the best course of action is to play along.” he tore up a pastry with his fingers.

“Alright, I agree. And I have to admit, I’m curious to see what could have happened to turn you into him,” she pointed at Martin, “Assuming he’s telling the truth. But we should all talk about this. Jon?”

He looked up from his untouched tea, almost as if he was startled that he was being included. “Everything he’s said has matched up with what I’ve read. It’s creepy, sure, but as of this moment I don’t have any reason to distrust him. That said, I also don’t have any reason to trust him.”

“I’m cautiously hopeful?” Martin said, “And if all his stuff about fear gods is true, then we’re probably screwed either way. Might as well see if we can’t get some lotto numbers out of it?”

“That’s the spirit!” Sasha cheered. She was one of those unbearable morning people, she knew. She revelled in it, actually. “And while we’re on the topic of the time traveller, if we’re saying we trust him for now, what should we call him? Saying future and present Martin every time will get tiresome.”

“The simple method?” Tim suggested, “Martin for our boy here, Blackwood for the interloper?”

Martin shrugged, “It’s a good enough method.”

After a few more minutes of idle conversation, they decided to go into work. Rosie smiled at them as they came in.

They went into the Archives to find that Blackwood had taken up residence at the empty desk. He had all the lights on, and was typing away on a typewriter. And, most curiously, he was talking to himself.

“You know, funnily enough, I don’t think that’s what’s going on here.” he said. Then he rolled his eyes. “No, Helen helped us a lot with that stunt. I wouldn’t put it past her to come back here herself and slap us for that. Oh, you’re here.” he smiled up at them.

Sasha and Tim shared a look behind Jon’s head. Tim made  _ yikes _ eyes and Sasha couldn’t help but agree. Maybe being the last one left, as he put it, had some more effects than she’d assumed.

“Oh, good morning,” Martin mumbled then, “Why’s there a typewriter?”

“Oh, yeah,” Blackwood said, fiddling with his earbud. “Technology doesn’t like us all that much. Luckily, the Institute had an old typewriter laying around! It wasn’t hard to figure out.” he tilted his head to the side, then grinned big, “The benefits of having my own personal google.”

Alright, then. He might not be evil, but the man’s definitely crazy.

There was a moment of silence at that. Then everyone decided, in unison, that it was too early to unpack all of that. “Yesterday, you lied.” Jon said finally.

Blackwood hummed, “No, I don’t really do that now.”

“You said you’d get around to the tunnels,” Jon continued, “And then you never did.”

“That’s not lying, that’s just me genuinely not getting around to it. I didn’t say  _ when _ I’d get around to it, even.” Blackwood said, “And it’s a fairly simple answer. Y’know the old Millbank prison? The tunnels system they built for that is  _ much _ more extensive than old maps would have you believe. There are places in the Archive where you could just punch a hole through the wall and be in the tunnels.”

“Wait, that’s what was familiar,” Tim said, “It’s Smirke’s fourteen, isn’t it? Those entities you were mentioning.”

Blackwood seemed surprised by that. Then he smiled, “That’s right, you were interested in Smirke’s work.” he said, like that wasn’t one of the most ominous things he could say, “Yes, it’s Smirke’s fourteen. Heh, that probably would have been easier than all my rambling yesterday. But it has been a while since I got a chance to.”

“So did Smirke have it right?” Tim asked.

Blackwood shrugged, “Little bit of yes, little bit of no. He simplified it too much, a lot got missed. Honestly, the best technique I’ve found is just to roll with the punches. Fear soup.”

Tim and Sasha looked at each other again. Fear soup?

“It’s like a scientific model,” Blackwood tried again, “It’s not entirely accurate to what’s actually happening in the real world, but it does make it easier for our puny human minds to comprehend and talk about.”

Oh, ok then. That actually made sense, sort of.

Nothing else did, though.

“Alright, my office,” Jon said. When the doppelganger went to stand he backtracked, “Ah, everyone but you.”

Blackwood shrugged, “Fair enough.” he sat back down and went back to clacking at the typewriter. Within a few moments he was muttering to himself again.

“Okay, so he was totally talking to himself, right?” Sasha said as soon as the door closed, “I wasn’t just having a stroke, right?”

“Yep, he was definitely doing that.” Martin said, “Of course there’s time travel and I find out that future me has completely lost it.”

“Okay, but at least yours wasn’t completely cryptic,” Tim said, “All, ‘that’s right, you were’ crap. Christ, he doesn’t look  _ that _ old, what happened?”

“So, with that new revelation.” Jon said, “I still don’t think he’s outwardly hostile. No offense, Martin, but I don’t think any version of you would be quite that good at deception. I definitely don’t think we can quite trust him, though. I think we need to get the full story, however.”

“Alright, so, about that,” Sasha said, “I say we get used to the whole time travel thing before we go around asking how we died. That might just be me, but I’d like to handle just one crisis at a time, and he doesn’t look like he’s planning on running.”

“Fair enough,” Tim said, “Can’t say I’m over-eager to learn what fate has in store for me,”

“Knock-knock.” Blackwood popped his head in. “Sorry to interrupt the war meeting, but I’ve brought a list of names you should probably avoid. The ones I’ve highlighted in red are particularly dangerous, green are mostly harmless, just nuisances.”

Jon hesitantly took the list from him. It was much more red than green, and some were just left unhighlighted. Not particularly dangerous or harmless, then? Very few were not highlighted at all. “Um, thanks.” he said, “Are we just supposed to turn these people away, or?”

“Oh!” Blackwood looked shocked. He stepped into the room and shut the door, muttering under his breath, “Yes, sorry, I was a bit distracted last night. You got this covered? Thanks.” the archival staff looked uncomfortable. They didn’t know who he was talking to.

“Anyways,” Blackwood said. “Long story short: If it doesn’t record on the computer, don’t even bother. Just bring it straight to me, I’ll take care of it. Goodness, this early in the timeline you probably don’t even have a physical dependence yet.”

“A  _ what _ .”

“Mm.” Blackwood nodded, “We never actually tested to see if he - past you, Jon, - would actually  _ die _ from withdrawal, but it was not fun to deal with - oh, what? Oh, that’s fun. Anyways, I’ll take care of all the true statements, so that won’t happen, don’t worry.” he said.

“Are you going to get a physical dependence, though?” Martin squeaked out.

Blackwood mulled it over for a moment. “No clue.” he said, “Though, my intuition says no. Don’t worry about me, it’s pretty much too late for me anyways. And I know what I’m doing.”

“Oh, okay then.” Marin looked a bit faint.

“So, about the names,” Blackwood said, “If those names are involved in the statement at all, just give it to me without even trying to record. If you do happen to meet one of those people in person, just run. Run as fast as you can.”

“That’s your advice?” Sasha said, “Just run?”

Blackwood shrugged, “Pretty much. There’s not much more you can do, honestly. Pray, maybe?”

Tim glanced through the list, “It just says Michael.” He declared at last. “Are we just supposed to avoid all Michaels?”

“Short answer: Yes.” Blackwood shrugged. “Long answer: There is a specific ‘Michael’ and he had no last name, well kinda, simplifying for clarity again, but I also just think the name Michael is flat-out cursed. So, yes, avoid anyone named Michael. Or any derivative thereof.”

Jon kneaded his forehead, “Alright, any more cursed knowledge you’d like to drop on us?”

Blackwood actually hemmed and hawed for a moment. “No, I think Sasha’s right, you need time to adjust.” Then he walked away, making sure to close the door tightly behind him.

“So he was listening in on our conversation.” Jon said.

“Really, Boss?” said Tim, “That’s what you took away from that conversation?”

“That’s about all I’m able to process at the moment.”

* * *

It was surprising how quickly they got used to the time traveller. It helped that he actually wasn’t around much. He always made sure to be seen first thing in the morning, but then around lunch time he’d disappear into the stacks and never come back.

“Where does he even go?” Jon asked at drinks night, Tuesday because that’s when the bar was emptiest and Martin disliked loud sounds, “I’ve looked everywhere for him. He just -  _ poof _ .”

That was one nice thing to come out of this whole time traveller thing. Jon was regularly going out to drinks with them, at least once a week but sometimes twice. Ostensibly, his purpose was to have a place to talk without the time traveller listening in. Really, it was all a part of Tim and Sasha’s plan to get Jon to loosen up.

“Maybe he goes into the tunnels.” Sasha suggested. “Didn’t he say there were access points from the Archives?”

“Yeah, if you punch through a wall,” Tim said, “I don’t think he’s done that, without us noticing.”

“It was fine in the beginning, when he’d actually answer my questions,” Jon said, “Now he just comes into my office, takes the  _ real _ statements and leaves. Sometimes says something ominous on his way out. And I just have to sit there reading drunk or crazy people’s statements.” he talked with big sweeps of his arms.

“Isn’t that what you thought you were doing before?” Martin asked, “So it really shouldn’t be much different,” he stirred his drink and very ostensibly did not look at Jon, even though he looked very silly mid-rant.

“But it is, though,” Jon complained, “Now I know there are real ones, and I’m not allowed to read them. And it wouldn’t be so bad if he’d actually stick around to explain anything.”

“But hey, look at it this way Boss,” Tim nudged him in the shoulder, “Now you get to spend lots of quality time with us! Besides, isn’t it kinda nice now that all the statements are low-stakes?”

Sasha snorted, “Yes, that consideration has certainly showed up in your work.”

“Oh, shut it,” Tim shot back. Sasha scrunched her nose at him and he stuck his tongue out in retaliation.

Martin hummed, “You know, he usually leaves a bunch of the statements on his desk while he goes and does - whatever it is he does during the day.” Martin waved his hand dismissively. “We could snag some for you?”

“Yeah,” Tim said, “It wouldn’t be hard.”

“We could photocopy them,” Sasha said, “Give him a copy, give us a copy. That way he won’t notice what’s up.”

“And if you need someone to look into cases,” Tim leaned back in his chair and grinned, “I know I can only speak for myself, but I’ve been getting a bit bored.”

“That- that sounds like a good idea,” Jon said, “Yeah, thanks.”

“Aw, of course,” Sasha said, “And maybe we should start up a movie night or something. We could compare notes on what’s up then.”

* * *

A few days later, an opportunity came up. Tim finished off one of his cases with a flourish, and was about to move on to the next in the pile when the time traveller manifested next to him. Not literally, Tim was pretty sure. He’d said something ominous when Tim asked why he was so stealthy, so Tim didn’t ask.

“Ah, no, not that one.” He said, swooping in to grab the file folder off of Tim’s desk, “That’s the worm sex one.”

“Sorry, the  _ what _ ?” Tim asked. It was beginning to be one of the most used phrases in the Archives.

“Yeah, that’s a sentence I’m not exactly keen on saying again.” Blackwood said. “Just know; it’s gross. Lady turned into worms, guy burned the apartment down. He eventually also turned into worms. Nasty stuff.”

“Okay, I will take your word for it.”

“Yeah, you should.”

Then he just walked away, muttering something about how he was sure that name had been on the list. It probably was, and that would explain the  _ look _ Jon gave him when he put it on his desk. Words would need to be had with the man that nonverbal communication still had to be understandable to count as communication, apparently.

Tim gnawed at his lip and fired up a game of solitaire on his computer. A couple of minutes later, Blackwood stood up and wandered off, muttering to himself. Sasha looked at him out of the corner of her eye and nodded. She would run any interference, then. Martin was out, chasing down an address for one of the sham statements (grumbling the whole way), so it was just them.

Tim took the full stack, a full three statements, and went to the copy machine. He worked as efficiently as he could, fishing out some more manila file folders and putting the copies in them as they came out. After a couple of minutes, he had duplicates of everything.

Tim put the papers down on the doppelganger’s desk for him to destroy as he pleased, and took the duplicates to Jon’s office.

“Hey Boss, got those statements you wanted.” Tim waved them, “Though, as a bit of advice for the future, just use your words. Call it special or something. That face you made looked like you were having a stroke.”

“Duly noted.” Jon took the papers. “This is more than just the one?”

“I just grabbed all the ones on his desk,” Tim said, “Just remember, you owe us answers over movie night for this.”

“I’ll be there,” Jon said, not even feigning disinterest. “Thank you, Tim.”

“Movie night’s Saturday at seven, don’t forget. Sasha has generously offered us the use of her home for this.” Tim winked one last time and left the room.

He smiled and made big hand gestures at Sasha once he left the room.

“Mission success?” she asked.

“He’ll be there,” Tim said, “Big success.”

“Perfect,” Sasha fired up her phone to send a message in the assistants group text. “Maybe we should make a group with Jon in it?” she said while she was thinking of it.

“Go for it,” Tim said, “I will thoroughly enjoy sending Jon memes during the workday.”

Sasha snickered, “And he won’t be able to complain without letting the time traveller know,”

“It’s the perfect plan!” Tim said, “Thank you, Sasha.”

_ Sassy Sash has created: Past vs Future. Fight! _

_ Sassy Sash added: Martoo, Tim Time and Jon Sims to the chat _

_ Sassy Sash: For plotting purposes >:3 _

“There we go,” Sasha said. “I’m sure that will come in very useful.”

“Really?” Tim looked at his phone when it buzzed, “It’s just his actual name? We’re gonna need to teach him to lighten up.”

“That’s what movie nights are for.”

“That and plotting.”

* * *

The very next day, the time traveller did something unusual. After lunch, he was still there, though he had abandoned his laptop in favor of the typewriter.

“Oh,” Tim said, “Good afternoon. Don’t usually see you here.”

“Ah, yes,” Blackwood said, pulling out the paper and giving it a cursory wave to dry the ink. In the process, he accidentally yanked out his earbud and nearly panicked in his haste to get it back in. “There’s something happening. Future business, you know.” he said it calmly, though he was clearly trying to pick up the shards of his dignity after his flailing.

At least that was something appropriately Martin-esque. “Right,” Tim nodded and sat at his desk, catty-corner to Blackwood’s. “Can I know what it is?”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, “Just a woman in need of some guidance.”

Sasha came in from lunch next, and looked from Blackwood to Tim quickly. Tim shrugged and she shrugged back. They both settled in, but didn’t do any work.

Another few minutes later, Blackwood stood at the foot of the stairs. Someone came walking down it soon after, someone wearing heels. Unless Jon or Martin had dramatically changed their wardrobe from this morning, Tim and Sasha didn’t know who it could be.

It was a woman, looking grey and drained.

“Naomi Hearne?” Blackwood greeted her at the foot of the stairs.

“Ah, yes, I-” the woman looked around, back up the stairs. “Did the woman upstairs call ahead?” Tim knew for a fact that Rosie had not.

Blackwood just grinned. “Something like that,” He said. “Come with me, I can take your statement.” he guided her into one of the larger storage offices. It was the one that had an old couch Sasha hadn’t worked up the courage to sit on yet.

The door slammed shut, so Tim and Sasha waited. They knew Martin wouldn’t be coming back soon, as he was investigating a case, and Jon was locked in his office. They stared at the closed door for about fifteen seconds before they caved and pressed their ears to the cracks.

Naomi Hearne’s story was truly awful. They sat there and listened to her ramble on, about graveyards and fog and solitude. Sasha grabbed a manila folder from the nearby supply desk to start writing down notes.

“You’re very brave to come here,” Blackwood said she was done, “I’m very proud of you. It’s not easy to talk about things like this.”

“Do,” Naomi stuttered, choked on her breath, “Do you believe me then?”

“Yes,” Blackwood said. “Believe it or not, I’ve had the same happen to me. It’s more common than you might think, most people just avoid talking about it.”

Tim and Sasha looked at each other slack jawed. Sasha started writing faster.

“Really?” Naomi seemed equally surprised.

“Yes,” Blackwood said, “It’s called the Forsaken. Theoretically, anyone could be sucked in, but it’s easier when you feel isolated.”

“Yeah, I definitely felt isolated.” Naomi scoffed.

“But you got out,” Blackwood said, “That’s not easy. You’re very strong.”

“I, thank you.” Naomi said, “I just don’t know where I’m supposed to go from here.”

“I mean this in the least patronizing way possible,” Blackwood said, and they could hear a chair scraping against the ground, “Counselling.”

“Right, right.” Naomi started laughing, “I knew it, you just think I’m crazy.”

“No, no, that's not it at all.” Blackwood took a deep breath, “These forces of the supernatural, a lot of the time they catch you when you’re at your most vulnerable. The Forsaken likes people who are Lonely. I am suggesting you go to grief counselling, get in contact with your friends. They’re not just Evan’s friends. You’ll need them with you to get through it.”

“How did you?” Naomi asked, “You said you went through it. How did you get past it?”

Blackwood audibly smiled, “My husband. We weren’t even together at the time, I could only tentatively call us friends at best back then. But he came to me in the Forsaken, helped me out and helped me recover. You need someone with you to help you recover.”

“Alright, alright,” Naomi said, “I’ll try it. Thank you,”

Blackwood said something in response, but Tim and Sasha missed it in their rush to look like they weren’t just eavesdropping.

‘Husband?????’ Tim texted her. He was standing in front of the stationary cabinet, trying to pretend he needed paper.

‘I don’t know either.’ Sasha replied, kneeling and trying to look like she was getting something out of a file cabinet, ‘But I do have a theory. That conversation stays between us.’

‘Roger that.’

* * *

“Thanks for hosting this, Sasha.” Martin said as he was let in for movie night. “I brought popcorn.”

“Of course,” She said, “I’m glad to have you over whenever. You can put that in the kitchen, next to the mudpies Tim brought.”

“I’m just making sure we get our daily dose of sugar!” Tim said when he heard his name. “Also, Marto! Great, you got here before Jon. We can fill you in on the plan.”

“Plan?”

“Not the time traveller one,” Sasha said, “This one’s top secret. Doesn’t leave this room, okay?”

“Okay,” Martin agreed, but he didn’t look super happy about it.

“It’s our plan to get Jon to lighten up!” Tim said. “Because, you see, this time traveller has given us an amazing opportunity,” Tim was lounging on Sasha’s couch in fuzzy pajamas, talking with his hands.

“He’s completely disrupted the status quo,” Sasha said, “Jon’s been more relaxed than ever around us. We’re just going to tempt him to come out of his shell more. Not super aggressively, though, we don’t want to scare him off.”

“You’re… gonna trick him into making friends with us?” Martin asked.

Sasha picked up Tim’s legs to sit on the couch. “He’s already friends with us,” she said.

“Whether he likes it or not!” Tim said.

“We’re just going to get him to lighten up.” Sasha opened a soda with a hiss, “He needs to relax. It’s not healthy to keep your shoulders up like that all the time.”

“Heh, maybe that’s how future Jon died.” Tim said, “He gave himself high blood pressure or a heart attack or something.”

“It was probably spookier than that,” Sasha said, “Although, I can’t quite say it would be out of character for him.”

Martin didn’t like that idea. “I’m sure it was something spooky,” he said, “And now we have the future - Blackwood, here to help us. He’s crazy, but I don’t think he’s going to kill anyone?”

“No, I think he’s just lonely-crazy.” Sasha said, “Poor guy. I wonder how we all died?” it was easier to talk about it here, joking with friends.

“Sash, that’s just morbid.” Martin tried to complain.

“I bet I died saving the day.” Tim said, “With a dramatic speech and last words. Probably some explosions too.”

“I bet you tripped while running away from Joe Spooky.” Sasha declared, “And totally mundanely cracked your skull open,”

“Sasha, I’m offended,” Tim said, “I’m much too thick-skulled for that.”

“True,” Sasha said, “Supernatural food poisoning, perhaps?”

“I have guts of steel!”

Well, that was a blatant lie. Despite the pounding of his heart at the topic, Martin couldn’t let that stand, “Tim, you got food poisoning from eating an eclair that was too sugary.”

“Hm, I bet I died doing something cool too,” Sasha said, “Probably getting us some information that helped save the day.”

“The intel I was acting on!” Tim decided, “We went out in a wonderful act of teamwork.”

“Please stop talking about you two dieing.” Martin said. “I’ve been thinking about it ever since the time traveller showed up, you don’t have to rub it in.” Crap, he was crying.

Tim and Sasha looked at each other. Crap, they made Martin cry.

“Sorry, Martin,” Sasha said, moving to sit on the arm of his chair. “If we knew it made you so uncomfortable, we wouldn’t talk about it.”

“Of course it makes me uncomfortable!” Martin blubbered. “I just got confirmation that the two of you - all of you- are going to die in the next, what, three years? He doesn’t look that old, so it’s gotta be soon. And he talked about it like it was long ago, too.”

“Well, for me the fact that he’s so chill about it is what makes me more comfortable.” said Tim, sitting on the other arm of the seat. “If he was panicking and a downer? Hell yeah, I’d be scared. But I trust him to keep us out of danger. Heh, it’s like that trick with little kids. He’s not panicking so I’m not panicking.”

Someone knocked on the door, a crisp two rasps. Jon, then.

“Where’s the toilet?” Martin wiped his eyes and tried to calm his breathing.

“Just down the hall, first door on the left,” Sasha said. Then she put on her best hostess face and got the door. “What do you know! You actually showed.” she smiled. Actually, she might have been smiling too much. Too late now, in either case.

“Of course I came,” Jon sniffed, “I said I would.”

“And you brought snacks.” Sasha said, “Thanks. Now, come help me pick a movie. I’m figuring something we can get drunk and laugh at, but I didn’t want to give Tim final pick of what we watched.”

“I could see how that would be unwise.” Jon said. 

They loitered in the kitchen for a minute. She wanted to stall to give Martin more time to calm down. “Did you find the statements I left on your desk this morning?” she asked.

“I did,” he said, “How did you get them so early? Isn’t he usually there first?”

“I went in early to try and surprise him,” Sasha said, “Creepy bugger was just sitting there with the lights off. He went to make tea, I made the copies then.”

“All Martins are the same in one respect, I suppose,” Jon said, “Did you get caught?”

“No, I had more than enough time.” Sasha said. “It was a little weird, though.” she said.

“Weird how?”

“He brought me a normal, black tea. Said he’d forgotten how I liked it.”

“Martin forgetting someone’s tea order?” Jon leaned on the counter, “Now that’s suspicious.”

Sasha waved him off. She’d probably bought enough time already, “That’s enough of that, though,” She showed him into the living room, which had an empty but ruffled couch. “Where is Tim, then?” she asked.

“No, Tim, I do not need any help!” came the scandalized shout from the bathroom. There was giggling after, so it probably wasn’t anything serious.

* * *

_ Past vs Future. Fight! _

_ Martoo: Hey guys, I won’t be coming in to work today. Or tomorrow, probably. Sorry. _

_ Martoo: I think I caught a bug. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Future!Martin: Don't read those, they're haunted  
> Past!Jon: B-  
> Past!Jon: But I'm curious.
> 
> Hope y'all enjoyed!


	4. Oh, worm?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh, worm?
> 
> Half of being intimidating is confidence. The other half is bluffing.  
> If you're truly intimidating, power has nothing to do with it.

Martin woke up early on Friday, as he did on any day, and went into the Archives. It was nice to get there early, to be allowed to sit alone in the office and plot. There was no decent service in the tunnels, and it was very difficult to be productive with Tim and Sasha hanging over his shoulder.

(Past-Martin avoided him, a bit. Martin didn’t blame him.)

(Past-Jon openly avoided him. This was expected.)

Martin pushed up the trapdoor gently, so as not to startle anyone who might be there, and pulled himself out. He checked to make sure the tape recorder in his back pocket had made the journey (one time, early in their time in the tunnels, the tape fell out of his pocket and landed at the bottom of the tunnel. Martin didn’t notice until lunch. Jon had refused to talk to him until dinner.) and went out to the main office.

Once Jon was far enough away that the static from his earbuds had faded to a distant white noise, he opened his laptop. He didn’t want another repeat of the incident in the halls between time, where his computer had just up and died, and started doing his own research.

He’d made a spreadsheet to keep track of everything he wanted to change, and all the important statements he’d have to hide. 

He had the Carlos Vittery one sitting on his desk right now, and he felt quite proud of that fact. He was going to sequester it away before his past self ever had the chance to even read it, much less feel the heartbreaking terror of thinking his friends had abandoned him to die alone.

A few minutes later, the door creaked open and oozed fluorescent light throughout the office. Martin would deny it, but he jumped in his seat, “Oh, Sasha,” he said, trying to get his heart to calm down. He knew who it was without looking up. He decided he didn’t want to look into that fact too hard, “You’re in early.”

“Oh, yeah,” Sasha said, looking confused. Probably fair, it was a good hour before the Institute officially opened, and Martin had been sitting there with the lights off and the brightness on his computer turned all the way down. “I couldn’t sleep.”

It sounded a bit like an excuse to Martin’s ear, but he decided to drop it. “Yeah, me neither.” He decided to say. “And sorry about the lights. I just like to keep it dark in the morning.”

“Um, yeah, that’s fine.” Sasha said. She turned on the lights anyways, and Martin couldn’t fault her for it. Probably thought he was creepy, which was fair enough. “I thought computers didn’t agree with you.”

Martin shrugged. It was mostly Jon the computers didn’t like, though his screen froze up enough he was starting to think it didn’t like him either. “It’s finicky.” He decided on saying. “I can usually predict it, though.” and, just to spite him, the screen chose that moment to freeze up.

His face must have spoken volumes, because Sasha snickered. She sat down at her own desk, which was across the way from the one he’d commandeered. It would be Melanie’s at some point in this future, his past. It wouldn’t be this time, though.

“Mostly, right?” she asked.

“Yeah, mostly.” he tapped on the desk while he waited for the computer to finish throwing it’s tantrum. “Read anything interesting lately?” he asked.

“Lots of bad trips.” Sasha said. She tapped the stack of manila folders on the corner of her desk. Right, they were still reading the false statements. Martin could probably tell them not to bother, but that might actually give past Jon an aneurysm.

He needed to calm down. But Martin didn’t know anything that he could do that would actually help.

“Ah, there are plenty of those.” Martin didn’t know what more to say to that, but he was saved by his computer screen going full black. That was unideal. The logo came on as it rebooted. His blood pressure shot through the roof. Well, at least it was doing something new? “Alright, I’m going to make tea. You want any?”

Sasha's eyes flickered to his desk, then back to his face. “Sure.” she said.

Martin smiled at her and glared at his laptop, “Great.” he said, “I’ll just go do that then,” he gave his computer one last glare on his way out.

He went into the break room, and started going through the motions of making tea. It was a bit weird, actually, it felt like so long ago he’d actually made tea for everybody, but the motions were still routine. More sugar than comfortable for Jon, just milk for Tim, and for Sasha -- 

But that wasn’t Sasha, was it. In his memories, that wasn’t her.

He got out two mugs and stared at the kettle while it boiled.

_ Something wrong? _

“It’s nothing, really. My computer’s being a piece of work again.” Martin tapped his fingers on the counter. He sniffed hard. “I offered to make some for Sasha, and well…”

_ Forgot Sasha’s tea order? _

“Of course. I remember Not-Sasha’s order just perfectly, however.” 

_ Sorry, I can’t tell you. Goodness forbid I Know anything useful. _

“You’re plenty useful, and besides, I don’t keep you just for the google services.” Martin said, “I’ll just make it black. It’s not that big a deal, I guess.” he scrubbed his hand along his face, held it over his mouth. It was just because he was tired. “I just suppose I’ll get a bit more suspicion for a bit.”

_ Heh, true. What’s more suspicious than a Martin forgetting a tea order? _

“What indeed,” He took a deep breath as the kettle chose then to begin to boil, “You can keep going through the stacks. I don’t think Sasha's going to be going in there anytime soon. I’ll give you some warning if she does.”

_ Alright. _ Jon said,  _ Take care, _

“Speak for yourself.”

_ I never claimed not to be a hypocrite. _

“Oh, I’ve always known that,”

* * *

“It feels so weird to be in a grocery store, after everything, you know?” Martin asked, turning over a box of pastries in his hand. The contents shifted and thumped perfectly innocently.

_ What, like you never went to a grocery store after everything? _

“I mean, not really.” Martin shrugged and added the box to his basket. “Popping into a convenience store doesn’t really have the same vibes.”

_ You realize you’re talking out loud, right? _

“I always do,” Martin said, “I bet if anyone thinks of it, they just think I’m being annoying about my bluetooth. Lots of folks do it. After everything I’ve done, I deserve to be a bit petty.”

_ Well everyone who heard that bit just thinks you're a bit of a bitch. _

“Perfect.” Martin looked at the refrigerated foods. “Do you think anyone will notice if I run a really long power cord from the archives to our base?”

_ Honestly? No. None of them have noticed you’re living in the tunnels yet. _

“Really?” Martin said. There was no response to that but the faint crackle of static, “Oh, come on, I haven’t been exactly subtle.”

_ You didn’t mention there’s a door. They think you’d have to punch through the wall to get in. _

“Oh. I guess that one is kinda on me, then,” he said. He looked down at the canned soup in his hand. “Do you think they’ve got camper stoves here?”

_ Not here, but there’s an outdoors supply store not too far away that does. _

“Thanks,”

_ Personal Google is here as always. _

Martin loaded up with some canned soups and popcorn and a couple pans. “We’ll have to look into getting a mini fridge.”

_ What, are you going to drag it into the tunnels yourself? _

“Maybe. Or I could order online, get it delivered.”

_ By who? It would be hard to stay hidden from Elias if you pulled that. _

“I dunno. Breekon and Hope?” Martin went to the self checkout - he had made great strides in interacting with people, but he still couldn’t stand the look on the cashier's faces when he spoke to Jon. “Might be worth it just to see Elias’s face, honestly.”

_ Pfft, Breekon and Hope? _

“Yeah, what’s the problem with that?” Martin took out the reusable bags they’d found in the archives. Apparently Gertrude used to use them to smuggle in Leitners. “Might as well. They’re going to be making deliveries anyways. They could freak out a couple people while doing it too, win-win.”

_ We’ll keep that one in our back pocket, alright? _

“Fine,” Martin finished bagging the groceries, “Kill joy.”

_ Sorry. Just making sure we don’t use this for evil. _

“Yeah, yeah.” Martin walked out into the street. He’d gone to one of the shops near an entrance to the tunnels, so it wasn’t that bad. All in all, it was actually a quite pleasant walk to the room where they’d taken up shop.

The room they had chosen was situated just between the archives and an area with a lot of shops. It wasn’t a short walk, but not so long that it got tiresome or arduous. It was pleasant, and the tunnels were always just a touch colder than comfortable. 

It wasn’t a very big room, but it was dry and had stone walls that didn’t drip, and a floor made of stone. It had a door that closed, but the jury was still out on whether that was a bonus or nerve-wracking.

All of the walls were covered in bookshelves, with a modest amount of statements in them. Martin had been working at collecting all the true statements from the archives, but he and Jon could only do so much, especially when the other staff were liable to poke their heads in at any moment.

“Are you sure you don’t want to tell them?” he said before he realized his train of thought would make no sense to anyone not inside his head. And, as Jon had promised, he was not in his head.

_ Would make this a bit easier, wouldn’t it? _ Jon said, then sighed,  _ No, I don’t think so. Don’t want to panic them too bad. _

“We could try to frame it as scaring them straight?” Martin said, “‘Don’t act out of line or you’ll end up like this’ sort of thing,” he waved a fist, but without enthusiasm.

_ I thought you didn’t want me framing what I am as a bad thing? _

“Context.” Martin started putting the food away in a bookshelf they had declared the pantry. Currently, it was mostly full of crisps and jerky. The canned soups would look nice among them.

_ I think you’ve already done that with all the talk about how they’ll die. And by talking to me. _

“Yeah, well, I didn’t go through all of this not to be able to talk to you,” Martin said, “Besides, I can just say I’m muttering to myself. They don’t have to believe me.”

_ They won’t _ .

“Fair enough,” Martin said, “You know, I’m actually surprised they’re not more suspicious.”

_ They are. They just think you’re more crazy than dangerous. _

“Oh. I’m a little offended by that, actually.” Jon started laughing, “What? I could be dangerous!” Martin spluttered and crossed his arms.

_ To some monster, sure, but to them? I don’t think you could harm a human you didn’t know, much less them. _

“I dunno. I don’t really feel like I know Sasha.”

_ I know. I mean, I Knew before what she’d be like, but… this is different. _

“Has she caught on?”

_ No, not yet. _

“A blessing.” Martin sighed, and sat down on the air mattress they’d drug down there after those first couple of nights sleeping on an air mattress. “Hopefully, I’ll never have to explain that one.”

_ Yeah, I don’t see that one going over too well, _ Jon said,  _ Are you alright? With all of this, I mean. _

“Sometimes it’s hard, all they don’t know,” Martin said, “But it’s also kind of nice. I feel like all of their concerns are very manageable.”

_ Well, exempting crazy time travellers, I assume. _ Jon laughed.

“Oh, of course.” Martin said. Then, “When’s the table set to arrive again?”

_ We’ve got a while still. _ Jon said,  _ Some things, some reference points have been moved by us messing with the statements. It’s hard to tell, exactly. _

“Alright, I can work with that.” Martin said. “What do you figure I can convince them to stop looking into the statements at all by that time?”

_ Not a prayer. _

“No, didn’t think so.”

* * *

Martin went out and bought a long power cable, a camper stove and an electric kettle the next day. It was nice to be able to make his own warm meal and eat it in the comfort of his own home.

Funnily enough, this little room underground and in a labyrinth of murder tunnels wasn’t the most uncomfortable place he’d lived in the past several years. In fact, with Jon around, it was downright cozy. He’d take it over a worm flat near any day.

It felt good, on Monday, to go into the archives touting one of the silly mugs he’d bought himself. He wasn’t sitting there alone long before the four past counterparts came in together. They’d been doing that a lot more, recently. Probably an accidental side effect of being there.

Good. His and Jon’s past selves could certainly need better friends.

He already knew, vaguely, what he was going to get when he opened a file. He had listened to all of the tapes he could get his hands on during those six months after the Circus, after all. But he was working out a new filing system, and it felt wrong to just ignore any statement at all.

He labelled all of them with the date, a letter based on which entity it was, something to show whether it was a closed case or if any of the people involved would show up to bite him in the rear. Another designator if a Leitner was involved, any cursed artefacts he needed to look out for. Frankly, he was quite proud of his organization.

_ I have a pile for you, _ Jon said after an hour or so,  _ But I’m probably done for now. _

“For the best,” Martin said, and stood to go pick up the statements.

The first file box inside the door to the stacks was empty on purpose. That purpose was for Jon to fill it with true statements as he combed through the stacks. Martin took the papers out of it and went back to his desk.

It had been a while since he did work with other people in the room. He liked it, the sound of Sasha’s computer keys clicking, Tim making phone calls. He’d forgotten how nice it was just to be in the presence of other people while working for Peter.

Martin went back into the office just as Jon’s office door slammed shut. Avoiding him, then. He would have been more concerned if they were not avoiding him, frankly.

He was just doing mindless filing, but it was calming. Routine. Most of the statements were repeats of ones he’d seen before, either he’d listened to a tape or done the research himself. It was easy to fall into the routine, comfortable.

He pulled the file at the top of the list. Ah, yes, he remembered this one. The guy who stapled meat to the walls of his flat. He wasn’t sure what would drive someone to do that, and he was determined not to learn.

Just before lunch time, past-Martin stood and started gathering his things. He looked a little shaky, like he was in a bit of a hurry.

“You alright, Martin?” Sasha asked.

“Yeah, I think I’m just going to head home early.” he said, shuffling a few things on his desk into his messenger bag. “I’m not feeling too well.”

That made sense, Martin mused. He did look a bit pale, too. Probably nothing major, though.

“Alright,” Tim said, “Feel better,”

“It’s nothing,” past-Martin insisted, but still headed towards the door, “I just need to sleep it off, I’m sure.”

“Alright,” Sasha said, “Call me if you need anything.”

Martin said nothing. He wasn’t even sure what he could say to his past self.

The next day, past-Martin didn’t come in with all the others. Martin decided to ask, “I guess it wasn’t just something he could sleep off, then?” he leaned on his desk. His computer was being a bit disagreeable again.

“No,” Sasha said, “He said he’s going to take today and tomorrow off, at least.”

“Oh,” Martin said, musing. What would have caused him to take a significant amount of time off like that, back when he’d been the young Martin? “Must be something pretty bad, then.” it wasn’t too out of the realm of possibility, though, he did look rather peaky when he left.

“Yeah, I offered to bring him groceries.” Tim started to set up at his desk, “He said he didn’t want to get me ill too,”

Martin had to laugh at that one. “Yeah, that sounds about right.” that was normal enough, at least.

He had forgotten about it by the time he went into the tunnels to sort his collected files.

_ So, past you is ill, then? _ Jon asked as Martin worked on the filing. For now, he was giving each entity its own shelf. Some of the particularly ‘fear-soup’ statements just got placed somewhat subjectively, however. It made him feel very good to put everything in its proper place.

“Ah, yes.” Martin said, “They’ve been going out together a lot more often, the four of them. He probably has more opportunity to actually catch something than I ever did.”

_ True. I suppose we shouldn’t sound too happy about him catching ill, though. _

“Yeah,” Martin stopped to laugh, “They’d never trust us, then. And it would sound pathetic and probably a bit too embarrassing to admit I was just glad he’s getting out enough.”

* * *

The second day with no Martin wasn’t too suspicious. Nor the third day, after Sasha explained that she’d been texting with him that night.

The fourth day, near lunchtime, he grabbed the last file folder in the pile. There were cobwebs between it and the desk, as if holding the file closed.

“Christ,” He muttered as he broke the strands, “That can’t be good.”

_ What is it? _ Jon asked, and the static was loud and very present. It was comforting, that he wasn’t alone to see whatever horror awaited him.

Carlos Vittery. Ghost spiders and silver worms. That wasn’t it, though, that wasn’t enough to justify the cobwebs. What else could it be?

Oh.

“What color ink was the Vittery statement, again?” He asked. He waited for an answer, but the look of fear in Tim and Sasha’s eyes was more than enough to answer that.

_ Blue, why? Oh. Oh, no. _

“In the office.” Martin declared, standing up. “Now.”

Tim and Sasha did exactly as told. At least they weren’t going to try and fight it too hard, then.

He went to one of the file cabinets he’d already cleaned out, and pulled out three pairs of thick denim trousers. “You three are very lucky.” he said when he went into the office. The three of them were all there, standing and waiting for him. They looked a bit like children expecting to be scolded. “That I planned ahead for this. If I were less thorough we’d be in a bit of trouble.”

“What are you doing?” Tim asked right as he got a pair of trousers in his face.

“I am not going to lecture you about photocopying the statements on my desk,” He said, “Instead, you are going to get a demonstration of why it’s a bad idea.”

“What do you mean?” Jon turned over the jeans in his hands.

“You are going to put those on,” Martin said, “And meet me in the main room in five minutes. Then, I am going to take you to see the stupidity of your actions.”

“Where?” Sasha asked.

“Past-Martin’s flat, of course.” Martin crossed his arms. “You get to see what you’ve done to him. Five minutes.” he left the room.

Luckily, he’d been planning on dealing with Prentiss on his own at some point, so he did have a healthy stash of fire extinguishers to dig up, more than enough to hand one to each person when they met five minutes later. The trousers all fit, at least. Another benefit to literally having supernatural google in his pocket.

“What’s happening to Martin,” Tim asked as they went up the stairs and into the dreary day. Really, it seemed about the right weather for this type of rescue mission. “What did you do?”

“I hid the statement.” Martin said, “I was going to hide it and then get rid of it, and this would never be a problem. Then you decided to make a copy and give it to him anyways.”

“Obviously you didn’t hide it well enough,” said Jon, but Jon also tended to be meaner when he was stressed, so Martin wasn’t going to mention it.

“You knew this was going to happen?” Sasha rushed to keep up. Martin was nearly jogging at this point in his haste to get on the Tube. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Nothing would have happened,” Martin said, “If you’d left the statements alone. By the time I noticed there was anything wrong it was literally too late for me to say anything.” he couldn’t necessarily blame that last part on them, as the Web was obviously involved, but still.

_ I’m sorry. _ Jon said,  _ We were just too caught up in the idea that something might go right for once. _

“I’ll figure something out,” he muttered under his breath, jumping the turnstile to the station to Tim’s obvious excitement.

He ran to catch the train just as they were making the final call. “You need to tell us these things.” Jon said, “How were we supposed to know? Also, did we have to take the train?” he held the fire extinguisher like he was a bit afraid it would go off on its own.

“I suppose it was a bit much to ask you to trust me, and, well, this isn’t exactly the stupidest thing you’ve come up with.” Martin sighed.

_ Hey, _ came the affronted burst of static.

“What, am I wrong?” Martin sighed. “Fine, I will try to be a bit more forthcoming moving forward. But I wanted to keep you four out of this as much as I possibly could. Once you’re in it, it’s very hard to get out. And don’t worry about being in public, this is London. Nobody cares.”

They got off at the Stockwell, and made the ten minute walk to Martin’s flat in silence. It felt weird being back, actually. After the Prentiss incident, he’d cancelled his lease as soon as he was able and got a new flat, and never came back to the area again. Even after everything he saw, the two weeks of knocking around in his flat was the most terrified he’d ever been.

_ Are you okay? _

“I’ll be fine,” He said, “I’ve seen worse.”

_ First time’s always the worst, though. _

He could still hear the worms squirming, the random tap-tap-tapping at the door. But this time, he was outside the door. And he was holding a fire extinguisher. And he had a corkscrew in his pocket.

It was three flights of stairs to get to Martin’s flat, and there was something wrong instantly.

“Good lord, what is that smell?” Jon was the first one to bring it up.

“The Crawling Rot,” Martin said. It was a very familiar smell, unfortunately. They said smell was the sense most closely linked to memory, and he certainly agreed. “One of those fourteen fear domains I was telling you. Rot and bugs and disease and toxic relationships.”

“Well, one of those things is not like the others,” Sasha grumbled.

“Not quite,” Martin said, “But here’s not the place to explain that.”

He wondered, idly, as they walked down the hall why they were all so instantly affected by the presence of Jane Prentiss, when one of the neighbors walking the opposite direction didn’t seem to notice anything. He grinned and nodded at Martin. That’s right, before he was at least idly friendly with his neighbors.

Things had truly changed a lot, then. People who knew him now would definitely describe him as a hermit. At best. Even Georgie hadn’t been able to strong-arm him into taking the spare room in her flat after everything.

There she was, at the end of the hall. Jane Prentiss, standing in front of the door, glaring at the place where a peephole would be. She was holding Martin’s phone in one hand. There was one of those extra long charging cables coming out of it, connected to the wall outlet. It was so out of place, it was almost silly.

Martin pulled the pin on his fire extinguisher, and shot a few puffs at the few worms that had begun to squirm towards his feet. He had a sudden flash of the feeling of worms burrowing, digging, deeper and deeper, eating, transforming, making a home-

“What is that?” Tim asked, holding his arm in front of his face.

“Jane Prentiss, of course.” Martin said, grateful for the distraction. He blinked hard and shot a few more puffs of CO2 just to keep the things off of him. “The worms eat people, make you like her. Remember that worm sex statement I took from you a while ago?”

“Ew,” Martin could hear the three behind him pull the pins on their fire extinguishers as well. That’s good, then.

“That’s the Corruption for you.”

Jane turned at the sound of her name, her face and skin mottled with holes. She just stood there looking confused for a moment. Worms crawled around on her skin like she was already dead. “Hello, Jane.” Martin said. She looked between him and the door. “I’m going to need to ask you to leave.”

“What are you?” she asked, the words grating. It sounded like it hurt. There were holes and worms crawling in and out of her throat, past her lips. Martin couldn’t tell if that was her whole question, or if her throat had just decayed mid-sentence.

He looked at the mass of worms on the floor, countless more within her and just waiting to come out. He had four fire extinguishers, three of which were in the hands of people who didn’t know what was going on. 

There was a long run to the stairs, and he knew for a fact that Jane was faster than she looked. And there’s no way they were leaving without past-Martin, who was currently behind the door Jane was guarding. They weren’t going to make it out of an actual physical altercation.

_ Let’s see if we can’t scare her off, _ Jon came to the same conclusion as him,  _ I can probably come up with some pretty convincing sound effects. _

Martin nodded, mentally preparing himself and coming up with an idea. He'd heard enough ominous magic-chants in his day, it shouldn't be too hard to figure it out.

“You have to leave, Jane.” Martin said again. He was proud that his voice didn’t shake. “Don’t make me ask a third time. You might not like it.” the static in his ears got louder. “Leave. Go somewhere else. Don’t make an attempt at a ritual in the Institute, no matter what anyone tells you to do. It’s a trap for both of us.”

“That’s all you do, isn’t it,” she rasped, “Watch and advise, but don’t actually do anything. Just watch, and watch, and watch from your tower.”

_ So that’s how this is going to have to be, then. _

“In case you didn’t notice, I’m here doing something right now. Leave.” Martin and Jon said together. “Go away. I know your story, Jane Prentiss, I know you. Leave before all is lost. Leave before all is Forgotten.” the static was loud enough now that everyone in the hall could hear it. The assistants behind him were all covering their ears.

Was it really that loud? He was the one wearing the headphones, wasn’t he? Why didn't it sound that loud to him?

(He really hoped that was convincing enough.)

Jane left. She didn’t quite walk, didn’t quite run. She just left. Looked a bit like her whole body just turned to goop and slithered away.

_ Looks like that worked. Thank goodness. I’m… I’m going to rest, now. _

Martin nodded. He felt it too, though whether it was what had just happened or the adrenaline rapidly leaving him he didn’t know.

The three archival workers behind him seemed too shell shocked from that whole interaction to do much. That was fine by Martin, he didn’t want to answer any questions about that at the moment.

“Martin.” he called through the door, careful not to knock. “She’s gone. You can come out now.”

He heard shuffling from within the flat. Past-Martin was moving furniture and things away from the door. When he finally got it open he was panting, holding a corkscrew between his fingers like a weapon.

“Sorry, sorry,” Past-Martin said, tucking the corkscrew away. “It’s silly,” he said.

“No it’s not,” Martin pulled his own corkscrew out of his pocket.

Past-Martin stood there silently, just staring. Then he looked down the hall.

“You-you got rid of her,” he said at last, panting and sounding like he hadn’t spoken aloud in days. “She’s gone.”

“Oh christ, Martin,” Sasha was the first one to break the stupor and pull Martin into a hug, “Has she been here the whole time?”

“It’s,” Martin - past Martin - said, “Yeah, she was.”

“Pack a bag.” Martin said. “Clothes, necessities. You’re not staying here.”

“Yeah,” Tim snapped out of it, “Absolutely not. We’ll help you pack.”

He and Sasha pushed past into the room, dragging baby-Martin with them. Martin stayed out in the hall, just watching them. “I’ll stand guard.” he said by way of explanation. He crossed his arms and leaned on the doorframe, setting his extinguisher at his feet. Jon didn’t go in, but also didn’t get comfortable.

There was a gleam of light inside the pile of worm carcasses left behind. Martin bent down to investigate it. It was his cellphone, or past-Martin’s. It would seem Jane forgot to take it with her. He scooped it up, taking the power cord with it.

“How long?” Jon asked after an uncomfortable moment. “How long were you in there? When this happened before.”

“Thirteen days.” Martin said. “All my electronics were dead, the power was off in my flat. All the food in the fridge and freezer was long gone. I was nearly out of food, and convinced that everyone had forgotten about me and I was going to die alone.”

“Oh.”

“Oh.”

* * *

“So, where’s Martin staying now?” Tim asked once they were back at the archives. The past four of them had headed in together, Martin took a more circuitous route and came in from the tunnels. Martin, future-Martin, was sitting on a desk, everyone else settled in chairs, looking like they were just sitting where they had landed.

“I don’t have a spare room,” Sasha said, “You’re welcome to stay over, but not indefinitely. The couch would get painful after a time.”

“That’s fine,” past-Martin said, “I’m fine, really.” it was clear from the way he shrunk back into himself he very much did not want to go back to his flat, but also didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.

“You’re not going back there.” Tim said. “No way.”

“I have a spare room in my flat,” Jon volunteered. “You can stay there. At least until we have this whole situation… situated.” he glared at Martin - future Martin - rather pointedly. There was some large amount of distrust there.

“I- I,” past Martin looked a little starstruck. “Thank you. I would - thank you.”

“Before you go,” Martin stood and handed the phone to his past-self. “Jane had this. She was using it to text everyone. We didn’t just forget about you. And, this time, you get to keep your phone.” he smirked, then stopped. An aborted attempt at comedy. It was probably still too soon.

“I,” Martin took the phone and turned it over. “Thank you,” he said.

“Now,” Martin turned to everyone. “That was a very tough time, and everyone should try to get some sleep. Feel free to bring the fire extinguishers, though if you only find a few worms, your feet work just as well.”

And, in twos, they filed out of the archives to go home and sleep off the days they’d had. Luckily, none of them thought to ask any more questions.

“So,” Martin sat down at his desk, and started letting the computer boot up. “That happened.”

_ Indeed it did. _

“Guess it was too much to hope that any of them would be agreeable.” Martin tapped a rhythm on the desk.

_ Are you alright? _

“Honestly? No, I don’t think so.” Martin spun around a little bit in the chair. The rocking motion was nice, at least. “I’ll sleep it off later. I assume now we should prepare for a full on worm siege?”

_ There’s a post office near an entrance to the tunnels,  _ Jon volunteered,  _ we could get a box there, buy a bunch of fire extinguishers en masse. _

“Get your past self to bully Elias into getting the new fire suppression system again?” Martin suggested, “Then when the time comes have  _ me _ go set it off instead of relying on that prick.”

_ We’d need to get him some solid proof to point to.  _ Jon said,  _ Elias really pushed back against the idea. Though, I believe he did eventually agree to get me to stop bothering him. _

“You bitched Elias into submission?” Martin asked, “Bravo. That’s a talent we should tap into more.”

_ I’m sorry, who do you think has been keeping him distracted this whole time? _ Jon asked.

“Okay, but that’s therapeutic.”

_ That’s extremely therapeutic. _

“I wonder if I can make up a statement about the worms,” Martin mused. “Do you think a statement from me would count? Do you think I could fake a statement?”

_ Maybe? _ Jon hummed,  _ We can try that if Elias pushes back against the idea too much. _

“Yeah, okay.” Martin shrugged, “Worse case scenario, I wouldn’t be overly opposed to making a few statements, true or false.”

Martin opened up his spreadsheet, and started adding all the Prentiss mess to his plans. For now he was assuming the timeline happened exactly like it had last time, though he already messed that up nice and well.

Besides, Jon’s main way of telling time was through the statements read. The schedule was already all out of whack. But Martin desperately wished it wasn’t, he didn’t like having events jumping up on him like this.

“We should warn Sasha about Michael soon, shouldn’t we.” he looked at the screen and added it to his calendar.

_ Yes, _ Jon said,  _ Tell her not to meet any strange men in cemeteries at night. _

“Things I thought I’d never have to warn anyone against.” Martin laughed, “Hey, you know that weird guy you saw at a coffee shop who has All The Bones in his hands? Don’t go to a secondary location alone with him.”

_ Don’t go to a primary location with him, either. _

“This is Sasha,” Martin said, “She’d do anything once.”

_ Yeah,  _ Jon said,  _ Did you know she’s already tried to hack your laptop? Three times. _

“Really?” Martin said, “I can only remember leaving her with it twice.”

_ One time she had Tim take it to her in the toilet. _ Jon explained,  _ Don’t worry, they're not going to get it. I make it go real slow. _

“Weaponized spookiness.” Martin said. “Nice.” it was funny because that was the most mundane use for spookiness ever.

He finished updating his spreadsheet and closed his computer. Then he asked, “Was a spare room at your flat an option the whole time?”

_ Well. Perhaps. _

“Oh my god.” Martin laughed.

_ In my defense, _ Jon said, and Martin knew exactly what posture he would be standing in. all his weight in one leg, finger in the air, and he needed to stop that train of thought before he started crying.  _ I thought it would be best to give you some space. After all that, I thought you’d want room to process. _

“So you left me alone in a creepy archive with worms crawling in the walls,” Martin laughed, “Gloriously thoughtful. The last thing I wanted was to be alone!”

_ Yes, I know that now! I was trying to be thoughtful. Also, let’s not forget that at the time you would have actually imploded if I’d offered my spare room. _

“The thought is appreciated,” Martin acknowledged, “You were wrong, but you were trying. And yes, I would have imploded.”

_ They’re getting along together really well.  _ Jon said,  _ All of them. We’ve made good friends out of them. _

“I suppose all it took was a common enemy.” Martin shrugged. “I’m fine absorbing some of the paranoia.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will elaborate further later, but for now I would like to make it abundantly clear that the reason future!Jon is avoiding the others is NOT because he is ugly or something. He has no physical form. 
> 
> and, one last time:  
> Oh, worm?  
> (idk, I just like to say it.)


	5. Like herding cats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some explanations, and some snooping.

“Sorry,” Jon said as he opened the door to his flat. “I wasn’t really expecting guests.”

“I can’t really judge you for that,” Martin said. As he looked around, he wondered what Jon’s flat looked like when he was expecting guests. It really wasn’t very messy at all; it hardly even looked lived in. Maybe the books were shelved neater? “Besides, you did see the mess that was my flat.”

“Yeah, after being trapped for about five days.” Jon said. “That is not your fault.”

“Oh. Yeah, I suppose.” he shifted in place with his little bag of clothes. He must have looked rather pathetic, because Jon spoke up.

“I’ll, ah, show you to the spare room, then.” he turned and walked away stiffly, pointing out the toilet and linen closet as he went. 

It looked like it doubled as a spare office, the second room, with a desk and a bookshelf, but there was a bed tucked into the corner with a naked mattress. “Yeah, it came with the place,” Jon said by way of explanation, “There are spare linens in the closet. And, uh, yeah. Help yourself.”

“Thank you,” Martin said a few moments after the door closed, when his brain finished rebooting.

Well, that’s not helping his workplace crush.

Crap, it’s not just a workplace crush anymore, is it?

* * *

“Hey Sash,” Tim said as they walked to the station together, “How do you feel about a sleepover tonight?”

Sasha smiled at him. He was acting confident, but he didn’t want to be alone. Good, neither did she. “Yeah,” she said. “My place or yours?”

“Either.” Tim shrugged.

“Mine then,” Sasha said, “We can watch stupid movies until we pass out.”

“Yeah,” Tim said, “Yeah, that sounds nice.”

Sasha loaned Tim a pair of pajama bottoms, and they brought out a bunch of fuzzy pillows and blankets to the main room. “What do you want to watch?” she asked, sifting through her B-rated movies while Tim set up the pillow fort.

“Something stupid,” he said, “That I don’t have to think about.”

“Bad romcom?” she suggested, holding up a fan of movies that fit the bill.

“Oh, yes please,”

She held out the fan to him with a flourish, “Pick a card, any card.”

He dramatically flung a hand over his eyes and picked one. Sasha didn’t even look at the selected film, just popped it in the DVD player and snuggled into the couch.

“So,” Tim said while the front credits rolled. “Do you think that could turn Martin into  _ that _ ?”

“That alone?” Sasha asked, “No. But I think that could’ve been the start of a transformation. He didn’t seem all that phased by it, either.”

“That was awful.” Tim said. “Could you imagine? If he hadn’t been here? How long would we have gone before actually checking on Martin?”

“I dunno,” Sasha said. “But, I do think we should do some snooping.”

“Snooping?”

“Yeah,” Sasha shrugged, “We got too lazy about it. We were comfortable with just stealing statements.”

“Do not shrug when I am using you as a pillow.”

“Sorry.”

* * *

Martin was already at work when Sasha and Tim dragged themselves into the office. He was sitting at his desk, acting like nothing had happened. Blackwood was at the desk behind him, tapping away at that typewriter as always.

Sasha would steal a look at that typewriter, but Blackwood was too cautious. He always took the paper off before leaving, and typewriters couldn’t be hacked to duplicate documents or keystrokes like a computer could.

Obviously, he knew her.

“Martin!” Tim greeted, dropping his jacket across the back of the chair, “It’s nice to see you back here.”

“It’s good to be back.” Martin said. He looked a bit frazzled, still, and like he hadn’t slept very much.

“Did Jon twist your arm into coming in?” Sasha asked, sitting at her own desk. “You don’t have to, I’m sure you could take as many days off as you want.”

“Oh, no, no.” Martin shook his hands in front of him with the force of his denial, “Jon offered to give me a bit off as well. But, uh, the last thing I want right now is to be alone in a flat.”

“Told you so,” the time traveller muttered under his breath. Everyone else made the decision to ignore him.

“Alright,” Sasha gave him that. She probably wouldn’t want to be alone either, honestly. “If you need to talk, I’m here.”

“Yeah, me too.” Tim said.

“Thanks,” Martin said. “Both of you.”

That seemed the end of the conversation, so they all sat down to do work, or at least some facsimile of it. No one felt like actually working, and all the photocopied statements had been disposed of earlier that day, though by the time traveller or by Jon nobody knew.

After a few minutes, Martin stood up to get something to drink. Sasha followed him. She needed to talk to him.

“Martin,” she said, grabbing his arm, “I am so, so sorry.”

“It’s fine, Sash,” Martin said. “Really. I’m okay, now.”

“We shouldn’t have done that,” Sasha said, “We shouldn’t have copied the statements, and you were…”

“I’m fine,” Martin said, “And all of us decided to do it.”

“But I was the one,” Sasha said, “I was the one who thought to use the photocopier. Martin, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have suggested that, it was irresponsible. I’m so sorry.”

“It was no one’s fault, I don’t blame anyone.” Martin said, “We couldn’t have known. Just a freak accident. It’s fine.”

“It’s okay,” Sasha said, taking a deep breath. “If it’s not fine. If you’re not fine.”

Martin hesitated. “I’m fine,” he said, and left without what he’d gone in for. After a moment Sasha followed him and sat back down in her chair. She didn’t return to work, just played minesweeper.

After a few minutes of silence, Blackwood stood up. Then he comically put his finger to his lips and walked away. As soon as he was out of sight, footsteps started coming down the stairs.

It was Elias. “Is Jon in his office?” he asked.

“Ah, yes.” Sasha said. Elias was creepy, and she had long been elected the Assistants’ Liaison for them, “I don’t think he’s too busy today.”

“Thank you,” he said. “I heard there was something of a commotion down here the other day. Are you alright?” he looked at each of them in turn, but especially at Martin.

“Yeah.” Sasha said. She remembered the look on Blackwood’s face, and decided to trust him on this. She was all for lying to the creepy bastard, and last time she ignored his advice Martin got Wormed. “There was a small commotion. We had it handled, though. We’re all fine. Thank you for your concern.”

His gaze lingered on Martin again. Now he just seemed confused.

“Well, that’s alright, then.” he said. “I’m glad.”

Then he left and went into Jon’s office. The assistants stared at each other then, in near perfect unison, whipped out their phones to text in the assistants-only group chat.

_ Tim Time: wth??? _

_ Martoo: What was that all about? _

_ Sassy Sash: You know, now that I know he’s some sort of supernatural stalker it is glaringly obvious. _

There was loud talking in Jon’s office now. None of them could work up the courage to go and listen in.

_ Tim Time: We’re interrogating the time traveller about all this later, right? _

_ Sassy Sash: Oh absolutely. _

“Alright,” Elias said just as the door opened. “Have a nice day.” he walked away and up the stairs. No one spoke until he was all the way gone, and the door at the top had slammed shut again.

“Which of you gave the time traveller my phone number?” Jon demanded.

“He has a phone?” was Tim’s eloquent answer.

“Apparently so,” Jon turned his phone to show them a text conversation. “And he was using it to warn me about Elias. And something about fire extinguishers?”

_ Unknown Number: Hey, fair warning, Elias is on his way _

_ Unknown Number: Tell him the ABSOLUTE BARE MINIMUM you can get away with _

_ Unknown Number: Also, get him to change the fire suppression system to CO2. This took a bit of bitching last time, so just be persistent! _

_ Unknown Number: Oh yeah, this is the time travellers by the way. In case that wasn’t obvious. _

“Time travellers, plural?” Sasha said, “I thought it was only him?”

“Him and his imaginary friend?” Tim suggested.

“You say that, but I actually think it’s the most likely answer,” said Jon.

“Alright,” The time traveller(s?) himself came around the corner. “I imagine you have questions. Shoot.” he sat on top of his desk and crossed his arms.

“How did you know Elias was coming?”

“How did you get my phone number?”

Sasha and Jon asked at the same time.

The time traveller nodded. “Right. You remember how I told you that the Institute is literally a stronghold of the Fear of Someone Knowing Stuff? That’s how.”

“Wait, is that something we’ll all be able to do?” Tim asked, “Get some super mind reading powers?”

“One: That is not what this is,” Blackwood counted off on his fingers, “And two: Not if I can help it. The plus sides really don’t outweigh the negatives.”

“Why did you want us to lie to Elias?” Martin asked.

“Okay, first of all: do not lie directly to Elias,” Blackwood said, “He will know. Depending on his mood, either nothing will happen or you may or may not leave the room traumatized.”

“Sorry,  _ what? _ ”

“Yes, he takes being an evil boss to a new level. There is a bit more to it than that, but functionally knowing his secrets won’t make what you do any different. I want to have some leverage on him if I do need it, though, so I won’t tell you his whole deal. Just don’t give him a straight answer.”

“You have a phone?” Tim decided to ask to lighten the mood a bit.

“Oh, yeah,” Blackwood pulled a sturdy brick of a phone out of his pocket, “Technology doesn’t really agree with me, though, so I don’t tend to use it much.”

“What was all that yesterday?” Jon asked. “With the running out and the worms?”

Blackwood sighed. “I didn’t know you had been reading the statements still - which is a stupid idea, I will say. You know the basic story about Jane Prentiss, yes? The seven fatalities at the hospital?”

“Yes, we know.” Sasha sat on her own desk, since it seemed fashionable. "It was a whole Thing up in Research."

“Well, she was hiding out in Carlos Vittery’s basement. I’m assuming things went relatively similar in this timeline and someone decided to do a little light breaking and entering?”

“I- yeah.” Martin stuttered.

“Yep. In my timeline at least she showed up at my flat and stayed there for thirteen days. She had taken my phone so she was texting you all and had managed to convince you not to come check up on me.” he shrugged like it was nothing.

“Shit, that’s awful.” Tim said, “Thirteen whole days?”

“Don’t think I got more than ten hours of sleep the whole time,” Blackwood picked at his pants. “Anyways. If she’s smart, that’s the last we’ll see of Jane. A lot of the time, however, intelligence has nothing to do with all of this entity business. The fire extinguishers, CO2 canisters, are your best weapons. Stock up.”

“What was all that yesterday?” Tim asked, “With Prentiss and the static?”

“Oh,” Blackwood looked a little bashful, “Bluffing, mostly. I was saying ominous stuff to scare Jane off, and the tape did his part and gave me sound effects.”

“You call her Jane.” Sasha said.

“Yeah, of course.” Blackwood said. “She was a person. After Becoming, she did terrible things, but even she has a statement floating around here somewhere. And her story… it hits a little too close to home for me. I just don’t want people to forget she was a person before all of that. Driven to act that way by bad circumstances.”

“Oh,” Sasha said. She leaned back on her desk.

“Okay, that got a bit deeper than I thought it would,” Blackwood cleared his throat. “Uh, while we’re on the topic of giving future advice. Sasha, I know this is going to sound silly, but it is a very important piece of advice.”

“Okay?”

“Do not agree to meet creepy men in cemeteries after dark. Especially do not then go to secondary locations with said creepy man.”

“Yes?” Sasha frowned “That seems obvious?”

“You would think.” Blackwood nodded.

“Damn, Sash, what did you do?” Tim laughed.

“I don’t believe Sasha would be foolish enough for… that.” Jon threw in his two cents.

“Yeah, I’m going to need more information,” Sasha said. “If I actually went somewhere with a creepy guy like that, there must have been extenuating circumstances.”

“Okay, yes, that’s fair.” Blackwood hummed for a moment. “If I’m recalling correctly, you first met him in a cafe. He’s distorted, tall, yellow hair and all the bones are in his hands. He said something vaguely ominous, then gave you advice for how to protect the Archivist, which is why you followed him. He’s the one that gave us the information about the fire extinguishers the first time.”

“That’s all?” Sasha asked. “He just gave me some advice on how to defend myself?”

“Yes.” Blackwood seemed to realize what he was cautioning against. “But another time he locked me and Tim in his hellscape hallways for a couple weeks. Michael, he's not… predictable. He is The Distortion, and his whole thing is lying and deception. In that moment his goals lined up with ours, but there is no guarantee that will carry through into the future. And he’s got a personal vendetta against the Archivist, so let’s not tempt fate, hm?”

“A personal vendetta?” Jon asked. “What did I do?”

“Not you, Gertrude.” Blackwood shrugged. “The old bat really had a lot of enemies, and lucky you get to inherit most of them. It’s not my story to tell, at any rate.”

“How do you know all of this?” Tim asked. “You seem privy to a lot of information.”

Blackwood shrugged, then held up his hands. “What do you think all these statements are for? We also got good at prying statements out of beings in situ, too.” he looked sad for a second, tilted his head like he was listening to something. “Don’t give any statements, you three. And Jon, don’t ever ask someone for a statement. The knowledge is nice, but the cost is too high.”

“Alright?” Jon said.

“Great.” Blackwood stood. “I believe that’s enough for me for one day. Please, please listen to me, though. I don’t mean to play the suffering olympics, because that’s kinda shitty, but this is one of the least-worst things that could have happened. Don’t meet creepy men in cemeteries at night, don’t sell your ribs for knowledge, it’s not that hard.”

He left, and the room was silent for a moment in his wake.

"Sell your ribs for knowledge?" Jon repeated.

Tim looked around the room. “So, how do people feel about starting up that murder board again?”

“I have tacks in my office,” Jon said. It was as good as agreement. 

* * *

It was weird how quickly they adjusted to this new reality. Martin and Jon came into work together everyday, and Martin started pestering him to go home at five and usually succeeded by six-thirty. 

“Did you know he can cook?” Martin whispered at an emergency assistants-only lunch. “Really well, actually.”

“Martin, he makes tea in the microwave. Or at least did, up in Research.” Tim pointed out, using his sandwich to accentuate his point. “Anything more than microwave mac-n-cheese is good for him.”

“No, like real food.” Martin said, “An actual whole meal. Some type of curry.”

“Aw,” Sasha cooed, “He makes food for you!”

That had the desired effect. Martin instantly went red as a tomato. “I-I-I- It’s just for efficiency's sake!” He defended, stuttering and waving his hands. “It’s cheaper and easier to make one meal for two people than two meals for one person each. And the kitchen isn’t that big so it’d be inconvenient, and probably just plain awkward-”

“Calm down, Martin.” Sasha said, laughing, “You’re going to pop a blood vessel with all that denial. It was a joke.”

“Economies of scale.” Martin muttered sullenly into his soup one last time before taking a mournful slurp.

Tim nodded, “Economies of scale, sure. Whatever you need to give your heart a break.”

Martin shrugged, “It’s what Jon said.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Sasha waved her hands to halt all conversation, “How was the conversation when this was brought up?”

“Ah, well,” Martin shrugged, “I dunno. I had gone out for a walk - and there were some of those damn worms - and when I got back he was already cooking. Said a bunch of stuff about economies of scale, and I thought it was a really good idea. Sounded smart.”

Tim and Sasha shared a look over the table. Tim whipped out his phone and texted her in private chat.

“So you walked in and he just started giving his justifications?” Sasha asked for confirmation.

“Well,” Martin said, “I’m sure I looked plenty confused, because I didn’t expect him to be able to cook at all and the past few days we’d just gotten take-out, so he just explained.”

_ Tim Time: Does Jon Sims is have feelings? _

_ Sassy Sash: Perhaps so. _

_ Tim Time: Further research is needed. _

* * *

The next day, Tim and Sasha went into the stacks together shortly after Blackwood left for the day. They were walking and chatting, planning on pulling a few boxes to begin organizing, when Sasha tripped.

“Whoa, Sash, you good?” Tim leaned over to help her up.

“Yeah I’m fine,” she rubbed her ankle and turned to see what tripped her, “The most I hurt was my pride.” wait a minute, “Tim? Do you know what the power cord’s for?”

“Power cord?” Tim asked, and sure enough there was a long, thick orange cord winding across the floor. “I’ve never seen that here before.”

“Huh.” Sasha looked at it. “How do you feel about some snooping?”

“I think it’s our duty, actually.” Tim said, “Follow it?”

“Yeah.” they stopped talking after that, as if they’d scare the cord off.

It led into a corner of the archives where the light didn’t quite reach and the dust was thick. Sasha and Tim pulled out their phone flashlights in near unison, and discovered a trapdoor. The dust in the center of it was quite thick, but the handle was clear and clean.

The power cord dove under the trapdoor.

“Guess he is living in the tunnels after all.” Tim said. “We still snooping?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Sasha said, “I just can’t believe we’ve never found this before. Obviously it’s not new.” she pulled the door open and it went easily on well-oiled hinges.

Tim gallantly offered to take the ladder first, though neither of them had much fear of it. There were clear gaps in the dust where someone had been travelling recently. 

They didn’t have the courage to shut the trapdoor after them, though. That just felt like they would be asking for some kind of awful thing to happen to them and their bodies never be found.

(And, as always, it crossed Sasha’s mind. Was this how she died?)

As they traversed the tunnels, they were glad for the power cord. The tunnels were long and winding with no clear landmarks to be seen. None of the offshoots or turns were ninety degree angles, and the fewest connections a junction had was five. Without the cord they would be lost within a few feet of the trapdoor.

“How can he find anything down here?” Tim asked finally.

“I imagine he’s been exploring a while,” Sasha said. “Maybe that’s what he’s been doing while he’s away in the afternoons. Probably mapping this place out.”

“You’d have to be a madman to attempt to map this.” Tim looked down a hallway that barely went five feet past the junction before breaking into six more hallways. “Just looking at this place gives me a migraine.”

“Maybe it’s one of those fear gods he was talking about.” Sasha said. “Confusing tunnels.”

The cord went through a couple of junctions and extensions as they walked through the tunnels. At last, they came to a point where the cord went underneath a closed door. Tim and Sasha shared a look, and Sasha opened the door slowly while Tim prepared to fight or run.

“Oh,” was all he said, though, “Looks like this is where the time traveller has been staying.”

The extension cord plugged into a long power strip on the side of the room. Plugged into that power strip was an electric kettle, an electric stove, a microwave and a small mini-fridge. A wire bin sat in the corner with food wrappers and other miscellaneous rubbish.

There were bookshelves all along the walls, many of them full of storage boxes and statements, but a couple also laden with clothes and food. There was a table with a single chair, and an air mattress covered in messy sheets. The table had a bowl of fresh fruit on it.

“This feels a little pathetic.” Sasha decided at last. 

“If this has been how he’s living, no wonder he’s starting to go off the deep end.” Tim commented and started to walk in. “It’s not booby-trapped.” he turned around to report.

“Lucky us,” she joined him inside. “Maybe we should invite him out for drinks sometime,” it was truly pathetic to look at. Like a bachelor pad but much, much worse.

“Yeah, we should,” Tim said.

Up close, though, it wasn’t quite as pathetic as it had been at first glance. There was another shelf with books, most of them looked like dollar-store paperbacks, but there was a photo album amongst them. On the messy-but-technically-made bed, there was a bright orange stuffed cow.

Sasha and Tim made the unanimous decision to look through the photo album. It wasn’t a big one, all done up with fancy page spreads and stickers. It was small, with clear plastic pocket pages just big enough to fit polaroids.

The first was a picture of all of them, Sasha recognized it as the one they’d taken at Martin’s birthday a few months back. They’d gotten him a polaroid camera then, for the aesthetic, and insisted on testing it out immediately.

Tim and Sasha were squished in tight on either side of Martin, with their arms slung over his shoulders. Tim had one hand out to take the picture. Jon was off to the side and in the back, nursing a rum-raisin flavored stain on his sweater vest.

The next was a photo taken in a pub, Martin with two women. They were smiling and looked slightly tipsy. The woman on his left was wearing a hijab and the one on his right had a shirt that read “King Sh!t”.

The next was a group of people standing in front of a car. The hijabi was back, this time dressed in black and standing next to a body-builder beast of a woman. Jon and Tim were there as well, standing as far away from each other as possible. They both were covered in circular scars, and it was hard to tell at the distance, but there appeared to be something wrong with Jon’s hand. None of them looked happy.

Then there were some empty pages. The more Sasha flipped, the more disappointed she became, but then there was another picture.

It was completely different in tone, stained bright yellow with sunlight. It was Jon, kneeling in front of a wire fence with a big, fluffy cow behind him. He had obviously been through hell since that first photo, covered in circular scars, a bright white line across his throat and his hand stained pink in a burn the shape of a hand. He was smiling, and looked actually happy.

The next photo was in the same place with the same cow, but now Martin was also in the picture. He had an arm wrapped around Jon’s middle and the other extended to take the picture. He rested his chin on Jon’s shoulder, and they were both smiling.

The next photo was obviously taken just seconds later, now Martin was hiding his face with a bright pink flush across his cheeks and Jon was smiling proudly.

Someone knocked on the door. “I was wondering how long it would take for anyone to notice.” the time traveller said. He was leaning in the doorway, fiddling with his earbuds, a stack of papers tucked under one arm. He was smiling, but not really looking at them.

Tim and Sasha didn’t even bother to act like they hadn’t been snooping. “We didn’t know you’d be back.” Tim said.

“Don’t worry, I expected this,” Blackwood waved them off. “I don’t have anything out that I’m not okay with you seeing. Don’t work at a temple of the Eye without a healthy bit of curiosity, right? And besides, Sasha, how many times have you hacked people’s computers?”

“Fair enough.” Sasha shrugged.

“Is this where you’ve been living?” Tim asked.

“Yeah,” Blackwood shrugged, “It’s not as bad as it looks, I promise. I spend a lot of time in other places, too. Besides, it’s got some killer benefits.”

“What kind of benefits?” Sasha asked, “It’s too confusing for any serial killers to find you?”

“Surprisingly, no.” Blackwood laughed, “For as big as these tunnels are, we’ve run into a lot of other folks. A lot of them serial killers, actually, too. Though, to be fair, most of them were either actively looking for us or had some sort of evil GPS or came out of the same entrance as us.”

Tim and Sasha must have made faces, leaning around him to look down the hall.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Blackwood laughed, “None of that was in this timeline. Though, I have been actively looking for one of the other guys here.”

“Why?” Tim asked.

“To beat him up for his lunch money?” Blackwood rolled his eyes. “Which is, actually, pretty close to what I actually want. He has something I want, and I’m not going to lie, I would love to have an excuse to beat him up.”

Tim whistled, “What did he have to do to get you going after him?”

“Plenty.” Blackwood’s face darkened. “Anyway, you were looking at the photobook, yeah?”

“Um, yeah.” Sasha remembered the last photo, and felt a bit embarrassed. “Sorry.” she said.

“Like I said, I only put out things that I’m okay with you guys snooping into.” he shrugged. “I started taking more pictures after Prentiss and everything. The supernatural has a tough time editing polaroids, so I made sure to have at least one picture of each of my friends.”

“Editing?” Tim mimicked back at him.

“Yeah, like - hm.” Blackwood frowned, “You guys worked on the Amy Patel statement before I got here, right? About that guy who started eating all his notebooks.”

“Yeah,” Sasha said, “We had a pot going on what was wrong with him. I say pica.”

Blackwood laughed, “No, not pica. I honestly don’t know why he ate the paper. Guy was having a  _ time _ of it I guess.” he shook his head, “No, at the very end he was replaced by something thaw was very much not-Graham, but his photo ID and all records showed him, right?”

Tim tilted his head to the side. “I thought that was just a head injury?”

“That's what Jon said, but no.” Blackwood shook his head. His face looked dark, like there was something personal there. “There’s a thing out there called a not-Them, it’s a mimic. It kills and replaces people, then rewrites other people’s memory so that it was always that person. The only things not changed are polaroids and cassette tapes.”

“Yikes.” Tim said. “Is that associated with the Circus?”

“The Stranger,” Blackwood said, “Yes.”

Sasha didn’t like the look that came over Tim’s face at that. She held up the photo book, flipped to the picture of Jon smiling, “What happened to him?”

Blackwood also looked glad for the change in topic. “I’m assuming you mean the scars and not the smile?” he said, “The circles are Prentiss’ worms. That one’s from when Daisy tried to slit his throat - Daisy’s the muscular one in the picture with the car. The hand is from when  _ someone _ thought it would be a good idea to shake a boiling-wax-woman’s hand.”

“In how long of a time frame was this?” Tim asked. It sounded like hell for anyone to go through.

“Well,” the time traveller said. “There was at least six months between the worms and everything else, but the hand and the throat happened within five days of each other.”

“Five days?” Sasha asked, “Christ.”

“Yeah.” Blackwood uncrossed his arms, sat at the lone chair at the table. “I hadn’t seen him in months, then he came back with all those scars and covered in blood and dirt. Terrifying. But this conversation is making me uncomfortable. Can you find your way back to the archives? Just follow the power cord.”

“Yeah,” Tim said, “That’s enough tunnel time for me today. Let’s go, Sash.”

“You go on ahead.” she said, “I’ll meet up with you in a sec.” she gave Tim a  _ look _ , and he went without further complaint.

“Yes?” Blackwood asked.

“It got me, didn’t it.” she said, “The not-Them.”

Blackwood pressed his lips together. “Yes.” he said. “How did you figure?”

Sasha shrugged. “You forgot my tea order. The only thing I can think of is if your mind had been supernaturally erased.”

Blackwood grinned, though he wasn’t happy. “Yeah, the not-Them got you.”

They sat in a grim silence for a few moments. “Photographs get corrupted?” she said.

“Yeah,” Blackwood fiddled with his hands. “Anything that’s not a polaroid or a tape changes. Or, usually there’s one person that can see through the illusion. That’s how we figured it out, one of the statement givers. She’ll be coming in in a few weeks, then she came in later and demanded to know what happened to ‘the first Sasha’.”

“That sounds awful.” Sasha said. “What was she like? Not-Sasha.”

Blackwood shrugged. “Nice, I guess. Terrible with technology. She liked her tea with a lot of milk.”

“I’m lactose intolerant.” Sasha said.

“She was nothing like you.” Blackwood said, running his hands through his hair. “And still, when I think back to my time in the archives…”

“She’s the one you see.” Sasha concluded. “And this is the only photo you have of the real me.” she said.

“All of us.” Blackwood said. “I check them a lot. Make sure everyone’s still, y’know. Them.” his voice caught in his throat.

“C’mere.” Sasha grabbed him in a hug. Then she shifted so it was just one arm around his shoulders, and took out her phone and snapped a few pictures. “There. What’s your number?”

Blackwood rattled it off to her, almost without thinking, and there was an answering buzz in his pocket. He pulled out his phone and looked at the pictures in wonder.

“There.” Sasha smiled. “Now you have more pictures.”

“Thank you.” Blackwood said. He had a dumbstruck look on his face.

“Of course,” Sasha said, “Though I would like to know more about this Not-Them.”

“It should be fine this time, but Do Not go into Artefact Storage under any circumstances.” Blackwood said, “It’s trapped in one of the artefacts - or will be, the artefact isn’t here yet. So long as you don’t touch it, it won’t get you.”

“Another excuse to avoid Artefact Storage? Absolutely.” Sasha said. “Thanks for the warning.” She left and met up with Tim in the hall.

“What was that all about?” he asked as they started walking, now considerably more confident in their steps.

“Oh, nothing.” she said. “So, those pictures…”

“Jon is definitely the husband he was mentioning, right?”

“Oh, absolutely.”

“How?”

“I don’t know how, but kudos to him for actually doing something about that crush eventually.”

* * *

_ Past vs Future. Fight! _

_ Sassy Sash: Hey guys, I’m meeting up with the creepy Michael guy at this cafe. _

_ Sassy Sash sent an image. _

_ [Image description: The front facade of a coffee shop. The closed sign was flipped, but the lights were still on. Vaguely, in the corner, there is a figure that could theoretically be a man.] _

_ Sassy Sash: If I don’t text again in an hour _

_ Sassy Sash: Call the police _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Future!Martin: hey, don't do that  
> Sasha: anyways-
> 
> hope yall enjoyed!


	6. A day with a Tape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A day in the life of a tape.

Jon was watching Martin sleep. To be fair, there wasn’t much else he did these days, other than watch.

(He didn’t exclusively watch Martin sleep. Sometimes Martin was awake.)

He looked peaceful, holding the stuffed cow they’d brought back with them. Martin was finally starting to sleep through the night again, after the Prentiss incident. Jon much preferred it when he slept through the night, it was too hard to give comfort after a nightmare as just a voice.

And sometimes, more often than not recently, he could feel the tug, the call of a statement giver’s dream. So he took a hold of it -- not with his hands because he didn’t have hands anymore -- and followed it through to its source.

And he woke up on the ratty couch in the safe house, with his head in Martin’s lap, a sudden rush of sensory information flooding him. He could feel every thread in the couch, every jetty in the air, Martin’s warmth beneath him.

“Good morning,” Martin crooned, and the light from the window was far too bright for it to be morning, but Jon didn’t mention it.

“Good morning,” he said. “How was work?”

Martin laughed, “You were there.” he pet his hands through Jon’s hair.

“Humor me?” Jon said. If he leaned into the touch like a needy cat, no one would mention it.

“Lovely,” Martin said, “I’m teaching the others my filing system for the statements. We realized that we kept rereading the same false statements, so now we’re properly sorting those, too.”

“You’re starting to make a visible dent in the stacks.” Jon said.

“No, not really.”

“Yes, really.” Jon smiled and took in the sensation of anything and everything. The sun on his face, Martin’s hands in his hair, “There’s a whole half-shelf now that’s just all false statements. And they’re organized by date.”

“It’s weird,” Martin said, “Technically that is the job, but it just feels like a game.”

“Well, they’re not real.” Jon said, “It kinda is a game. And it’s a good way to keep the youngin’s busy.”

“The youngin’s” Martin laughed.

“What?”

“It just sounds so silly,” said Martin, “When you say it like that. I don’t know.”

“Glad to entertain.” Jon said. He put a scowl on his face, just because he could, but it was far too exaggerated for anyone to believe it was true.

Martin kissed his forehead, and Jon leaned into the touch. “I am sorry,” Martin said, “That we’re in the stacks more now.”

“It’s fine,” Jon said. “We’re still making good progress. We don’t need to get all the statements out as fast as possible.”

“But I would like to,” Martin said. “I don’t really like that they’re all just sitting there. It feels like we’re tempting fate.”

“Martin,” Jon sighed, “They’re not all going to just spontaneously combust on us, you know.”

“I know that,” Martin said, “I just don’t trust those four not to be impulsive and have an all-night binge and come out the other side with laser eyes.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“It is.” Martin looked out the window, at the perfectly picturesque landscape flowing out around them. That made it obvious they were in a dream, the real Scotland didn’t look like that for the three weeks they lived there. “How was your day at work?” he asked.

Jon smiled. “Weren’t you there?”

“Yes, yes, I’m a hypocrite.” Martin said.

“I clogged up one of Elias’s pens,” Jon said, “One of the good antique ones. Did you know he’s still using iron-gall ink for all of his paperwork?”

“Iron-gall,” Martin mused to himself, face obviously scrunched up in thought, “I know you’ve mentioned that to me before. Isn’t it bad or something?”

“It’s acidic,” Jon said, settling in. “More so than normal inks. It’ll dissolve his papers, eventually. And clog pens. Maybe corrode the nibs, if I’m lucky.” he was very proud of that one.

“I thought you said modern formulations were fine?”

Yes. In one of the quiet nights in the safehouse, before the apocalypse but after everything, where neither of them had felt brave enough to sleep, Jon had gotten a rant about different ink types. The worst part was, none of it had been Beholding information at the time. 

(After getting the head archivist position, Jon had gone on an internet spree that ended with him learning about inks. None of it prepared him for the actual archiving job, even if his true purpose hadn’t been to be an Entity punch card.)

“Well, they’re good enough.” Jon said, “For normal, every day writing, but certainly not for, like, documental writing. If he’s pretending to run an academic institution, he could at least do it well. Though, it gives me plenty of opportunity to mess with his pens.”

“Then why are you complaining?”

“I just want to,” Jon said, “It feels nice.” to have such little, petty problems. To complain about Elias being just a petty, annoying boss and not the actual evil monster he was.

“This has been nice.” Martin agreed, “It’s been. Interesting. To watch them all go about their days.”

“They’re closer friends than we ever were.” Jon mused. “Hell, they’re living together now.”

“And isn’t that the shock of the century,” Martin reclined on the couch and Jon took the opportunity to sprawl across him. “But, I do think I’d consider us pretty good  _ friends _ .” he shook their left hands.

“Hm,” Jon hummed, “I think we just skipped right past the ‘friends’ stage, actually.”

“Yeah, suppose we did.” Martin laughed, and just kept looking at their hands. “Coworkers, then avoiding each other, then--bam! Romantic getaway in the highlands.”

Jon scoffed, “Get-away, yes, romantic, not so much.”

“That was plenty romantic.” Martin said, “I might have been in a weird place, but I did find it plenty romantic.”

“Well, I’m glad.” Jon said. “You’re going out with all them for drinks tomorrow, right? Speaking of friends.”

Martin sighed and leaned back on the couch. Sasha had texted him in the nick of time that evening, right as he was about to go back into the tunnels for the night. He’d said he was going, though not without a bit of regret. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll go.” he said at last, “I just wish they hadn’t invited me out of pity.”

“It wasn’t out of pity.”

“Don’t lie.” Martin said, gently flicking his nose. “They think I’m crazy for talking to myself, they see that I’m living in a room in the underground murder tunnels, they feel sorry for me.”

Jon scrunched his nose. It felt nice to do. “A bit.” he admitted. “They also want to see what more information they can get out of you. Not pity.”

Martin snorted, “So much better. Of course they do.” he said. “Can’t they just accept that it’s safer for them not to know?”

“You know them,” Jon laughed. “If anything, you’ve made them more eager to snoop.”

“I know.” Martin said, then shifted around on the couch so that now they were lying side by side. He opened his mouth to say something else, but then decided not to.

They laid in comfortable silence until Martin’s eyes began to droop, and the perfect scenery outside the window began to dissolve. Jon gave him one last hug, and leaned away.

Watching Martin wake up was almost as nice as watching him sleep. His face scrunched, and he stretched himself across the mattress before he even opened his eyes. He whined and let his body fall limp where he was.

(Already the golden-tinted memories of the safe dream were fading. He remembered warmth and happiness, honey tinted and soft, but it was so hard to remember physical sensations when a physical body seemed like such an abstract thing.)

“Time issit?” Martin asked, rolling over to grab for his glasses.

(It was the same pair that had gone through the apocalypse. Jon Knew they weren’t invincible, but he thought they were invincible.)

_ Ten AM. _ It was harder to Know things in the tunnels, but certain things were easy. Constant.

(Also, there was an analog clock on the wall.)

“Goodness, I slept in,” Martin sat up and stretched and yawned again.

_ That’s not a bad thing, _ Jon said.

“No,” Martin said, “I suppose not.” he smiled, and stood for a semblance of morning routine.

First he filled the kettle from one of the gallon water jugs they bought at the store, and set it to boil. (It took 6.7 minutes to reach boiling. The water had a few impurities, so it boiled at 101.645 degrees celsius.)

While the kettle heated, Martin wrested the air mattress into a state generously called ‘made’ and put the cow plush in a position of honor.

(When they’d bought the air mattress they hadn’t considered that there was no electricity in the tunnels yet. It had taken forever to pump the mattress with the manual pump that came with it. They’d considered giving up three times, but Martin refused to sleep on the floor another night.)

By then the kettle was whistling, and Martin pulled it off the heat and prepared a mug with a tea bag, a simple breakfast mix for the morning. In the morning he didn’t add any sugar, just enough milk to change the color.

(All of this he knew by simple observation.)

(Right after the Return, he hadn’t been able to do much other than observe from within the tape. Unable to move, unable to spin and talk, he had watched Martin putter around his apartment that was still there, despite everything.)

(He’d watched Martin try to live on his own, try to cook with disastrous results. Melanie and Georgie came over for weekly movie nights, and everytime ended in a fight with Georgie insisting he move in and get rid of the tape recorder already.)

(It was alright. Georgie didn’t know he was still there, all she knew was that the tapes had been a symbol for spookiness for so long. He didn’t blame her.)

(Even after he learned how to spin, it took him forever to even learn how to repeat sounds in his environment, much less talk. Martin somehow knew it was him from the very beginning.)

_ Shall you go up and interact with our coworkers? _ Jon asked Martin after he wrestled into his jumper. They would need to go to the laundromat again soon, Martin was running out of clean clothes.

“Not today, I don’t think,” Martin said. He stretched and a few vertebrae (thoracic and lumbar) popped and cracked at the movement. “It’s a bit late and, to be honest, I need a break too.”

_ Alright. _ Jon said,  _ What do you want to do for an off day? _

“Maybe go out for brunch,” Martin fussed around sipping his tea, “Then go beat up an old man.”

_ I’m assuming you mean Leitner and not the first old man you come across? _

“No, just anyone,” Martin laughed. “Yes, Leitner. I’ll feel more comfortable once we get that book off of him. I don’t like the idea that he could just squish us.”

_ I’d realize before it got serious. _ Jon said,  _ I wouldn’t let you get crushed. Probably. _

“Probably,” Martin repeated, “Real reassuring, Jon.”

_ Can’t let you get too complacent. _

He finished up his tea and started walking out of the tunnels, in the direction of the nearby shopping district. It was less that ideal to crawl out of a vent at just above floor level, but it felt fun. Like being in a spy movie.

(The way Martin rolled out was in No Way cool like an action hero, but instead incredibly cute and endearing.)

Once they were out of the tunnels, Jon could See so much more. It was like he had been sitting in an opaque box under water before, and now the box was clear and on the surface and he was standing. He was still tethered to the tape, still dependent on it, but now he had a longer leash to run on.

Not that he was planning on running anywhere. Martin was here, after all.

(The concrete  _ here _ was made with fly ash. It was stronger and allowed for the use of less concrete powder, while also being a good use for the by-products of coal-fired electricity plants. The concrete makers were becoming worried what alternative they’d use when the coal plants shut down.)

“You’re thinking hard.” Martin said, “Anything interesting?” Martin had already moved nearly a block down the street from the tunnel entrance.

_ Not unless you count the relationship between concrete manufacturing and coal power plants particularly fascinating. _ They were out in the street now, with other pedestrians, and Martin looked like a proper madman once more.

“Mildly so,” Martin said. “I’m thinking that cafe down the block? The one across the street from the bookshop with a shop cat.”

_ That is a very good cat,  _ Jon agreed.

He chatted idly with Martin while he ate his food (a blueberry muffin and super-sugary tea), but out of the tunnels it was nearly impossible to keep his attention from wandering.

(A woman down the street was talking with one of her friends. She’d had an experience with the Vast a few years back.)

(A pigeon was eating a cigarette butt. Someone was watching it and a fear of the Extinction grew, just a little.)

“That was nice,” Martin said, standing up from his seat and cleaning up after himself. The chair (made of aluminum) screeched on the pavement. “It’s nice, the little things.”

_ It is, _ Jon agreed,  _ The little things. _

(A few blocks down, a school had just broken for recess. A group of kids were kicking a ball around, not playing a specific game, just kicking. One of them fell and scraped her knee and started crying; a teacher ran over to calm her down.)

_ Normal. _

“Now, shall we beat up an old man?”

That statement got them a few looks. Martin had said it for that specific purpose, after all.

(A Watcher-tendency of his own.)

_ Well, we have to find him first. _ Jon said.

“Slippery bugger,” Martin muttered, and someone they passed on the street seriously considered reporting him for suspicious behavior, before being distracted.

Hm. Jon hadn’t caused that distraction. The Web was treading on thin ice. 

(A spider crawled away through a crack in the pavement. It could be sneaky, evade him if it wanted. It did not want to, then.)

Going back into the tunnels wasn’t necessarily an unpleasant sensation, but it was not pleasant either. It felt a bit like squeezing into trousers that were far too tight, and fighting to get the button shut. Once it was a done deal it wasn’t too bad, but it was an adjustment.

(It felt like resettling after a good, large meal.)

“You good?” Martin checked in like he always did.

_ Yeah. _ Jon said. He had long gotten used to the squeeze, the momentary, reflexive panic of not being able to See. In the tunnels his tether was much shorter, about able to See what Martin could with his eyes, not able to wander from a small radius around the recorder.

(They didn’t experiment with how far he could wander in the tunnels. It seemed an unnecessary risk.)

It was fine. Martin was there, and that’s all he really needed.

Well, emotionally. It would be really damn nice to look for other people. He knew Leitner was down there with them (knew with a little k), and that other beings like Prentiss also knew of the tunnels’ existence.

(Although he had his doubts about Jane. He had the suspicion that Elias had somehow guided her to the tunnels, but Elias was still, frustratingly, a blind spot.)

(Well. More of a blurry spot. That’s beside the point.)

They had a collection of cartography supplies next to Martin’s collection of poetry and Jon’s collection of pulp sci-fi. They didn’t really need it, Jon didn’t exactly forget details now, but it was good to have a physical copy just in case they ever needed to send their past selves into the tunnels.

“Should we start looking into the other levels soon?” Martin asked. On their journeys so far, they had found stairways going both up and down. That made sense, the grouping of tunnels they had broken into and found Gertrude in during all the worm business was a level above them. It wasn’t too odd to think there was a level below, either.

_ Let’s look above, _ Jon decided.  _ Especially if Prentiss is a Thing that is Happening, now. We need to know the area, a bit. Besides, that’s where I ran into Leitner the first time. _

“Then why have we been looking around down here?” Martin asked, but he wasn’t angry.

_ There were a lot of stairs, and usually I found his debris near them. _ Jon said,  _ And I never ran into him before that, so it only made sense that he was staying somewhere else. _

“That’s fair enough, I suppose.” Martin grabbed a new piece of graph paper, “But if we find Leitner instantly when we go upstairs I am going to blame you.”

_ We were going to map the lower levels no matter what, though. _

“True,” Martin said, “So there’s no time lost. I’m just going to laugh at you.”

Martin marked which stairwell he was going up on a map, and started mapping from there. He was essentially just wandering the tunnels and marking down the intersections as he went, and keeping an eye out for Leitner-debris.

He found a couple of food wrappers and some old bottles, but none of them were recent enough to draw any conclusions(at least a few months, Jon could tell that much). He marked the locations on the map anyways. He was walking and walking, and he turned a corner into a room and-

Oh.

There’s Gertrude.

It looked the same as the last time Martin found her body(and when Jon saw her through Martin’s statement), only this time he wasn’t scared and pursued by worms. She was sat in a chair (the same type they’d brought into their home) and nearly mummified. Her eyes were horrifyingly intact.

“Okay,” Martin said, “That’s a bit ghastly.”

_ Indeed. _ Jon couldn’t help but stare at her. She didn’t look peaceful, her face had decayed away enough that she didn’t show any emotion. Her shirt (a scratchy cardigan) was stained black with dried blood from the three bullet wounds in her chest (lung, liver and heart, in that order).

And there were boxes upon boxes of tapes and statements. More than he’d ever gotten from the police the first time around.

“What time is it?” Martin asked.

_ Five thirty-four. _ Jon said,  _ We’ve been down here for four hours. _

“Up here,” Martin corrected. At the accusing crackle of static, he shrugged. “We live a level below here. It’s up.”

_ Alright, _ Jon sighed.  _ We’ve been  _ **_up_ ** _ here for four hours. Seventeen minutes. 31, 32, 33, 34... _

“We should probably head back, then.” Martin stretched,

_ Probably, _ Jon agreed,  _ it’s a good time to go to restaurants. The lines are so short. _

Martin laughed, “I know you were born middle-aged, Jon, but that’s overdoing it a bit.”

_ What? _

“Eating dinner so early?” Martin said, “At least it’s not four PM at a Red Lobster, but goodness.”

_ It’s just when the lines are shortest. _ Jon said, sounding like he was making a petulant face and crossing his arms.  _ That’s all. _

Martin shook his head indulgently “Of course. Let’s bring some of the tapes with us,” Martin said. “I doubt there’s too much vitally important information here that we don’t already know, but, well. I don’t want to just leave them here.”

_ Or let the police get their hands on them. _ Jon said,  _ I don’t want to give them any more excuses to hang around the Institute than there already is. _

Martin thought back to Daisy, towering over him, one hand on the table as she demanded to know where Jon was.

(Martin, understandably, held a grudge.)

He picked up one of the file boxes. It wasn’t comfortable, per se, but he’d be able to carry it back to their room without trouble. “Should we do something about Gertrude? It feels kinda wrong to just abandon her here.”

_ Do you have anything to carry a corpse with? _ Jon asked.  _ We can come back for her later, if it makes you that uncomfortable. _

“Alright.” Martin said. Then, because her undecayed eyes were staring at him, he took off his hoodie and draped it over her face.

* * *

Martin went back to work the next day. He set up in the archives just after the Institute opened, and Jon quickly went into the stacks to find a few more True statements before everything got too busy.

“There he is!” Tim said, and Martin froze mid-step. For a moment, he honestly considered leaving. “Where were you yesterday?”

“Aw, were you worried?” Martin asked with a jaunty grin. “I overslept.”

“You overslept?” Tim leaned forward in his seat like he was watching a particularly good movie.

“And decided I had better things to do for the rest of the day.” Martin shrugged. He would bring up his joke about beating up an old man, but he didn’t need to feed Jon’s paranoid tendencies that bad.

Tim laughed, “Playin’ hookey. I can respect that.” Martin just rolled his eyes.

“You’re still on for drinks, right?” Sasha asked, leaning back in her chair. She’d started doing her hair differently, in the past week, keeping it down and curly. It looked nice.

“Yeah,” Martin said, “I’ll be there.”

“Don’t oversleep.” Tim winked.

Martin rolled his eyes. “I don’t sleep during the middle of the day.” Usually. Sometimes he did, when times were really rough.

(At least he didn’t have a laundry chair.)

(That would be inconvenient. He only had the one chair.)

Martin got to the pub five minutes after they agreed to meet. It was the same pub they’d gone to the whole time Martin worked at the Institute. Hell, they were probably sitting in the same corner booth, with the same drinks as always, chatting and having fun.

But Martin couldn’t go in. He stood at the threshold, and looked in. It was a pub on a Tuesday evening, what did he have to be scared of?

_ It’s okay. _ Jon said,  _ You could just ghost them? _

“No,” Martin said, and a passerby looked at him oddly. “I’ll go in. Just, give me a moment.”

When was the last time he’d gone out for drinks without something lurking over his head? Before the Unknowing, he went out for drinks with Basira and Melanie a few times (if it could still be called drinks when only Melanie was drinking anything alcoholic), but those always had  _ something _ looming over their heads they were drinking to avoid.

All the drinks after the Worm Siege were tinted with the memory of that thing pretending to be Sasha.

After he got trapped in his flat, he was constantly looking over his shoulder.

Before that, then. Back when he was a completely different person. And even that memory was still tainted with the Not-Sasha.

“Christ,” Martin voiced his conclusion aloud. “It’s been about forever since I went out to have drinks just for fun.”

_ Well, enjoy it. _ Jon said.  _ But don’t force yourself, if you’re not feeling up to it. _

“It’ll be fine once I get in.” he said. Then, before he could overthink it, he stepped over the threshold.

It was exactly as he remembered it. And, just as he’d assumed, the young archival staff were sitting at their normal booth in the corner, with exactly the drinks he’d predicted.

“There he is!” Tim shouted across the pub in true Tim fashion. “Thought you’d stood us up!”

“No, no,” Martin hustled over and took the seat next to Sasha on the bench, “Just lost track of time a bit today.”

“You left early.” Sasha said, “Where were you all afternoon?”

“Doing future stuff,” Martin said, then elaborated because he realized that wasn’t helpful in the slightest. “I’ve been mapping out the tunnels under the Institute.” he had promised to share more, hadn’t he?

(And the pub looked… exactly how he remembered it. Nostalgic.)

“Mapping them?” Jon, past-Jon, asked. “Wouldn’t you have done all that last time?”

Martin shrugged. “Did you see me come here with armloads of maps? Besides, the tunnels change a lot. I like it, though, it’s methodical.” then he decided to have a bit of fun, “Or, I wonder, should I just do it the Jon way?”

Jon went pale. Tim looked absolutely giddy. “The Jon way?”

“Okay, so imagine,” he held his hands up to set the scene, “We didn’t exactly find the tunnels during great circumstances. Basically, I was the only person not on medical leave. Then I discover that  _ someone _ who is supposed to be on strict bed rest actually went out, bought a big torch and a machete, and has been running aimlessly into the tunnels.”

A short, affronted, burst of static played through the speakers.

“He didn’t.” Tim leaned on his hands, having the time of his life.

“He absolutely did,” Martin said. “He was just lucky that he avoided most of the serial killers down there, and the one he did run into was feeling benevolent.” If Not-Sasha hadn't been feeling benevolent...

“Wait,” Jon asked, desperately trying to change the subject, “There’s serial killers with a direct entrance to the Archives?”

“Not really,” Martin said. Not-Sasha wasn’t there, and Leitner was more of an annoyance, “And most of them aren’t interested in leaving the tunnels. Just don’t run in aimlessly, and you’ll be fine.”

“Hah!” Sasha said, “I’m not the only one who needs the idiot-proof advice!”

Jon certainly looked mollified, and he leaned away, muttering into his drink.

“Oh, here,” Sasha said. She slid a glass over to him, “We took a wild guess about what you’d want.”

It was just a soda. Precisely what he always got when they went out for drinks. “You guessed right.” Martin said, “Thank you.”

“I’ve got a rum and coke, myself.” Sasha said to him and winked, “Everytime.”

Martin smiled. “Thank you,” he said.

“So,” Tim decided to break up the moment, and Martin was glad. He was afraid he was going to do something terribly sappy like cry. “What’s the deal with the future?”

“Tim,” Sasha elbowed him, “Don’t you know you’re not supposed to ask? It creates paradoxes and junk.”

“I can tell you if I can’t answer,” Martin said, “Shoot.”

“Will they won’t they?” Tim nudged Sasha and she rolled her eyes.

Martin grimaced, but in good fun, “Won’t they.” he said.

“What year did you come back from?” Past-Jon asked over the sound of Tim complaining.

“2019.” Martin said, “2018 is when all the shit hit the fan, though. Then we had to recover for a bit. 2018 lasted at the very least a couple months longer than it should have, probably closer to a full year. It was probably about, 20 months long?”

“What?” past-Martin asked.

“Yeah,” Martin spun his straw around in his drink. “We kinda broke time for a while there. Then fixed it again, so. It was like no time at all had passed, except so much had happened.”

“So, are you still working at this hellhole?” Tim asked.

Martin shrugged, “Yes and no.” he said, “I think I was technically Institute Head at the end, then I burnt it all down.”

“You were head?” Sasha asked, “You understand why that’s a bit hard to believe, right?”

Martin did have to give that to her. This point in the timeline, she knew about his CV and everything. (Not that he had told her, she’d hacked the Institute’s systems. They were easy to hack for that precise purpose.) “Yeah, but we already knew promotions in this place were kinda messed up.” he wrinkled his nose, and tapped his hands on the table to show he was done with the topic.

Everyone dropped it. He was glad they were all so willing to read body language like that. “Got any hot goss to tell us from the future?” Tim asked. He did something with his eyebrows that made Martin think he knew more than he was letting on.

Martin chewed on his lip, trying to think of something. He hadn’t really been all that invested in office gossip even before everything supernatural happened. Then it came to him, “Did you know Elias used to be a stoner?”

“No!” Tim said, “That guy? Never.”

“Yep,” Martin said, “Got in his uni’s paper too.”

They stayed on happy topics for the rest of the night.

* * *

_ You seem like you enjoyed yourself. _ Jon said when they got back to their room that night.

“Sorry I didn’t talk to you much,” Martin flopped onto the mattress, disturbing the sheets. “I got a bit caught up.”

_ No, no, _ Jon said,  _ You were having fun. It was nice to watch. I had fun, too. _

“Glad you had fun, then,” Martin said, “In your own super-spooky way.”

_ Now, I wouldn’t say  _ **_super_ ** _ spooky. _

“Hm,” Martin forced himself to stand and change into sleepwear, “I don’t know if I should encourage this stalker-y behavior, though.”

_ Oh, of course not. _ Jon said, Watching as always as Martin left the tape on the table and curled under the covers.  _ You spoil me. _

“Don’t point it out,” Martin grumbled, now nothing more than a bunch of curly hair poking out of a blanket, “I’ll come to my senses and cut you off.”

_ You won’t _ . Jon said.

Then, once again, he was Watching Martin sleep.

It’s not like there he had much else on.

This was much more important.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yall thought I wouldn't let Jon get Martin hugs!!!! (I mean, he can't remember them, but--)  
> Also, I can officially say I know where I'm going with this (ep. 187 may have had something to do with that >:) )
> 
> Also!!!!! Over 100 comments!!!! Thank yall so much!!!!  
> Hope you like it!


	7. Smart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, yall, Sasha is Too Smart to be tricked

Sasha liked people watching. It had just always been a hobby of hers, watching people go about their daily lives and how they interact. It fascinated her, how they talked, what they talked about, how their faces moved.

That was why she liked the flower shop across the street from her building so much. At a flower shop you get people buying flowers for the best day of their lives, buying flowers for the worst days of their lives. She saw hopeful young people getting bouquets and stressed people ordering arrangements, and sad people getting arrangements.

The man there today didn’t necessarily fit into any of the above categories. In fact, when she viewed him through the distorted bubble, he didn’t look like a person at all. A long, limp body, thin arms with fingers the length of his torso. He was staring straight at her with eyes that were the wrong size and shape -- were they even eyes?

Perhaps ‘he’ was the wrong word, maybe ‘it’ would be more appropriate. The creature staring at her was not human.

But when she shifted her weight and looked through the un-warped section of the old and yellowed glass, he looked normal. Tall and blond, yes, but not looking at her and his - its? - hands and arms were proportional.

She shifted and looked through the distorted bubble. He was definitely staring right at her, though the longer she looked the less sure she became of where his eyes were. Perhaps this was the ‘Distortion’ Blackwood had mentioned.

Funny. She expected to be more scared than she was. Perhaps the being was too confusing? Or perhaps knowing from Blackwood that this encounter didn’t finish her off was enough to bolster her small amount of bravery into action.

Well, there was nothing she could do from standing in the stairwell, staring down the stranger from the window, so she took the stairs two at a time. By the time she got to the bottom of the stairs, he was gone from the flower shop, and from the street, even though it didn’t take her that long to get to the street, and his hair should have been distinctive.

Sasha went inside and smiled at the lady behind the counter, “Hi, sorry, was there a man in here just now? Tall, blond?” and spooky. She didn’t say that last part out loud, however.

“Oh, yes there was,” the woman said, “Why, is there something wrong?”

“No, just making sure.” Sasha said. She grabbed one of the silly little things at the register at random, put it on the table in front of her. “Thank you,” she walked away with her purchase of a cheesy plastic flower-pen.

She got off at her station and started walking towards the Institute. There was a little coffee shop along the way, one that she liked to visit because it was cheap(er) and good. Unfortunately, her people watching endeavors earlier had cost her quite a bit of time, so she might not be able to stop by.

Then, just as she was about to cross the door, she noticed a figure out of the corner of her eye. Tall, lounging at a table, hair blond as banana peels and long limp fingers. Once is a chance meeting, twice is weird.

The arrival of the time traveller had well and good beaten any skepticism out of her. Now she knew what was in the world, and she wanted answers. And this figure had apparently helped her in the past-future. That was a hard idea to hold in her head.

She turned on her heel and went into the shop. She got her coffee - sugary and creamy enough it may not even be considered coffee anymore - and sat down across from the man. He held a paper cup in front of him. It was steaming and he dipped his finger in. Then his whole hand.

Sasha couldn’t think of anything to say. So she drank her coffee and left.

As she walked away, past the windows, the figure alternated between distorted and not.

* * *

“Wait, Sash, don’t move!” Tim shouted.

Sasha froze with her foot hovering above the ground of the archives. She pulled it back and stood on the last step.

“What’s up?” she asked.

Tim and Martin were armed like they were going to war, wielding fire extinguishers and corkscrews.

“I saw a worm,” Martin admitted, almost bashfully.

“We’re hunting the bugger down,” Tim explained. “Wanna help?”

“Yeah, sure,” Sasha descended the final step, watching under her feet for worms. Come to think of it, a worm wouldn’t make her _not_ step there. It would just make her step with more prejudice. But still she watched closely. “Where was it?”

“The corner,” Martin said, waving his hands a bit, pointing under the fax machine none of them had ever even turned on. “It was just… wiggling there.”

“Menacingly.” Tim elaborated.

“Of course it was menacing,” Sasha went over and got down on her knees.

(She wondered; did she do this last time?)

(It didn’t kill her that time, so it was fine.)

“Sasha!” Martin hissed, “Get up!”

Sasha turned on her phone flashlight, did a cursory glance around the space, before standing. “Clean down there.” she dusted off her jean legs.

Martin was fluttering his hand, the one that wasn’t holding the fire extinguisher, “Christ, Sash, don’t do that,” he said.

Sasha shrugged, “I’m sorry, I just wanted to be sure.”

“Don’t do that again,” he said, “Those things are faster than you’d think.”

“I’m sorry I startled you,” She said.

“Good lord, what’s the commotion out here?” Jon poked his head out of his office, “Can we not go half an hour into the workday without some new disaster?”

“Sorry, Jon-”

“Martin saw a worm.” Tim interrupted him, “We’re looking for it,”

“Oh, alright,” Jon looked mollified now. “Well, let me know when you find it. Or, uh, if you don’t. I’ll keep an eye out in my office.”

Martin had stars in his eyes, so there was no way he was going to answer.

“We will, Jon.” Sasha said, “Thanks.”

Jon shut his door again. He made extra sure to shut it quietly this time.

“So,” Sasha put her hands on her hips, “Which direction did it head in?”

“So, we’ve checked this whole wall, by the stairs,” Tim spoke with his hands, gesturing to the wall with broad sweeps, “Right now we’re doing a perimeter, and working our way in. Right, Martin?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah.” Martin said. Then he turned beet red, “I’ll check along this wall, alright!”

Tim and Sasha took the wall opposite him, sliding books and papers across a shelf as they looked. “Has Blackwood been in today?” she asked him.

“I haven’t seen him.” Tim said, “He wasn’t in when I got in, Martin said he wasn’t in when he and Jon arrived either.”

“Is Jon making Martin get up at the same time as him?” Sasha said, “Goodness,”

“Apparently Jon hasn’t gotten around to getting another key made yet,” Tim said. Then he shot Sasah a  _ Look _ and said, “Apparently he has been getting up later, though. A whole half hour.”

“Martin’s bullying has worked?”

“It would appear so,” Tim said, “Did Blackwood text you back?”

“About drinks?” Sasha said, “Yeah, he said he’d go. Kinda last-minute.”

“Sasha, you saw how pathetic that was.” Tim said, “I had to spend the whole weekend knowing he was living in  _ that _ .”

“Oh, no, I wasn’t complaining,” she said, “Just thought it was a bit last-minute.”

They never did actually find the wormy culprit, but they did eventually look around enough that they were confident it was gone. Martin sat criss-cross in his desk chair after that, and Sasah thought it was such a good idea she emulated it.

(No one expected any of them to sit in their chairs normally.)

Sasha had a bit of a crisis over when to leave work that evening. On the one hand, she wanted to talk to the Distorted guy again, so she would need to be at the coffee shop before it closed. One the other hand, she had no clue what made her think he would even still be there, and she wasn’t at a good stopping point.

She wound up leaving at about the same time as the cafe closed. Oddly enough, as she walked by, the lights were still on.

And the Guy was still sitting there, still with the same cup in front of him.

The door sign was flipped to ‘Closed’, but it still opened easily enough when she pushed, and she went to sit in front of the man again.

“Hello,” she said, crossing her legs professionally under the table. “You’re Michael, I presume?”

“That’s certainly a name,” he said, a voice like a lo-fi recording, not quite matching the movement of his mouth. “And I suppose it could be applied to me.”

Perfect, he was cryptic too. A cryptic cryptid. 

(She already had one at work, so-)

“I wonder, though,” he asked, “How do you know that name?”

“I have my sources.” she crossed her arms over the table and tried not to look so scared. She knew he wasn’t going to kill her, so she had no reason to feel her heart beating out of her chest.

His face did something at that, it was hard to tell what specifically. He seemed content to sit in silence. Sasha noticed the cup was empty, its contents long since evaporated. When he spun it on the table, it still seemed to have a considerable mass.

“What are you?” She asked at last, watching his figure twist and deform between blinks.

“Self is so difficult,” he said, smiling like a shark, “And how could I possibly answer? How could a melody describe itself when asked?”

“You’re the Twisting Deceit,” Sasha said. She had been studying Smirke’s fourteen, the limited monster manual Blackwood had given her. It was the name that came to mind, and it certainly matched the way his figure warped and swayed.

“By that logic, you’re the Archives.” Michael hummed, then laughed like nails on a chalkboard. “Do not confuse belonging with being, Sasha Eileen James.”

“So you’re an aspect, then.” Sasha said, “Or an avatar.”

“Words and labels are all so hard,” he said. “I am what I am, and no more, no less. Why would you ask a question you already know, I wonder?”

“To hear it from you.” Sasha said, truthful enough. “Why are you here?”

“Why is anyone here?” he held up a hand, grandstanding.

“That’s not the question I asked and you know it.” a bit more confident than normal? Perhaps. 

“I would like to offer you my assistance.”

“Why?”

“I believe our interests may align, little Watcher.” he said. “I do not want the Flesh Hive to win, and neither do you. I believe that makes us allies.”

“What would them winning entail?”

Michael shrugged, an interesting gesture that used far too many joints. “Crawling Rot.” he said simply, which admittedly was illustrative enough. She could still smell the hallway outside Martin’s flat.

“And what would it look like if you won?” Sasha said. “I assume you’re competing with the Rot if you want to sabotage them.”

“Or maybe I’m just petty and don’t want anyone to win.” Michael leaned in, “A feeling you know too?”

Okay, perhaps Sasha had flipped a fair amount of board games in her time. She nodded her concession, “And what would your assistance entail?”

“Some information,” Michael said, “Perhaps a quick getaway here and there.”

Blackwood mentioned something about hellscape hallways, right? Is that what a quick getaway would mean?

“And how could I trust you?” She asked.

“You can’t.” He answered, honest enough. Sasha couldn’t fault him that, at least. “But you want to protect your friends, don’t you? Your fellow Assistants, Timothy Stoker and Martin Blackwood. Your Archivist Jonathan Sims. And you are rather attached to those Interlopers already, aren’t you?”

Interlopers, referring to the time traveller? And plural, at that.

And mentioning them all by name? A clear threat. But it was true, she did want to protect them.

“So, what do you want me to do?” she asked.

“Meet me at Hanwell Cemetery.”

“The CO2, correct?” Sasha said, “I already know about all that.”

“Interesting,” Michael leaned back. “I’ll be in touch. I think we can be good friends.”

He put his hand over hers. It felt like a wet leather bag filled to the brim with sharp rocks. She jerked her hand away, and by the time she looked up again he was gone.

_ Past vs Future. Fight! _

_ Sassy Sash: I’m alive _

_ Tim Time: Christ sash, you really left it until the last minute. _

Sasha looked at the time. It had been exactly fifty-nine minutes.

_ Sassy Sash: Sorry. I didn’t notice. _

_ Jon: How did it go? _

_ Tim Time: Need any backup? _

_ Sassy Sash: No, I’m fine _

_ Sassy Sash: It’s not a conversation to have over text. _

The cafe door slammed behind her, and when she turned to try the handle out of curiosity, it was firmly locked. The lights were off and all the chairs were stacked on the tables. The sun was significantly lower than it had been when she was talking with him, but all the people on the street were exactly where they were before.

She walked home quickly after that, not sparing a moment for anything else. She tossed her shoes in the corner and just barely got into sleep clothes before she collapsed in bed. She didn’t go to sleep after that, but she was able to turn her brain off to the tune of a sitcom.

At about four in the morning, she blinked and suddenly it was six. That was close enough to a normal human waking time that she went with it. She stumbled into the bathroom, planning on washing out the ick-mouth from sleeping without brushing her teeth first, but froze.

Her hair, which she could have sworn was still in a braid when she passed out, was perm-curly and in a mass around her head. It honestly looked a bit cartoonish, and she wouldn’t believe it if she didn’t see it herself.

She fired up a quick google search and sat down with her widest-tooth comb to try and get some semblance of order from her hair. She tried to pull it back with a hair tie, but the elastic broke and hit the wall at terminal velocity.

Someone knocked on the door, then went ahead and let themself in. Sasha sat still and rigid on the kitchen chair she’d dragged into the bathroom.

“Sasha?” oh, it was just Tim breaking into her flat again.

“I’m in here.” she called, sitting on her hands while she looked at her head from all angles. She was getting sick of it, by now.

“Oh, there you are,” Tim was right around the corner, “Gave me a bit of a heart attack with that stunt last night- what happened to your hair?”

“Wish I knew,” Sasha said. “My guess is Michael had something to do with it.”

“The creepy guy?”

“The creepy guy.”

Tim walked in a slow half-circle around her. “What are you going to do about it?” he asked.

Sasha shrugged. “Nothing? Whip out a flat iron?”

Tim had to give her that. “True,” he picked up the piece of elastic and threw it away. “Aren’t you worried about the time traveller figuring it out?” he asked after a moment.

That would be less than ideal. But, if all his memories really had been erased… “I don’t think he’ll notice.” and maybe that was mean, but it felt true. She didn’t really wear her hair down much, anyways.

Tim laughed, “I don’t think he’s that oblivious.”

“I don’t wear my hair down much,” she said, “It’ll be fine. I just need to figure out how to keep it out of my face,”

“Ah, I can see one elastic’s already been lost to the cause,”

“A fallen soldier,” Sasha said.

Tim grabbed another elastic from her drawer, “Here, let me handle this.”

Tim had never done her dirty with a hairstyle yet, so she sat still and let him work until she had half her hair pulled back in a ponytail. “That should do it,” Tim stood back to admire his work.

“Thanks,” she said, “Now, I need to get dressed.”

“Fine,” Tim said, “I’ll be raiding your kitchen, then,”

“I would expect nothing less,” she rolled her eyes.

Her outfit for that day could be called professional, but it was mostly just comfortable. After the time traveller came and started wandering around in a jumper and joggers, they were abandoning their formal wear at varying speeds.

Tim, true to his word, was eating one of her bananas when she finished. She grabbed an apple, then started to the door, “We should get there early,” she said, “If we want to have time to explain what’s up to the others.”

They got into the Archives after Jon and Martin, like normal, but the time traveller wasn’t there again, which was a plus.

“So,” Tim said, sitting on his desk in one fluid motion, “The deets?”

“Yes, yes,” Sasha sat in her chair like a normal person and rolled it into the center so everyone could gather around. “The basic gist of it is, I met the Michael guy we talked and now we’re tentatively friends?”

“Friends?” Jon asked.

“Allies, maybe.” Sasha said. “‘Enemy of my enemy is my friend’ type of deal. He said he’d be around.”

“Enemy?” Martin asked.

“I think he meant Jane Prentiss,” Sasha said, “He used the word Flesh Hive, though. I could see how that would be applied to her.”

“Yes, definitely,” Martin agreed, visibly shivering.

“Are you sure that’s safe?” Tim said, “Just, partnering with him like that?”

Sasha shrugged. She didn’t really have a way to tell them that she already knew how she died, “Not much more dangerous than anything else we’re doing.” she said. “Besides, he struck me as more… someone who likes to watch others struggle than cause active harm.”

“That’s not reassuring.” Martin said.

Sasha switched her tactic, “Look, I was the one on the ground,” she said, “You’re just going to have to trust me on this one.”

“I do,” Jon said, “Just make sure to keep us updated.”

“I will,” Sasha said, “Other than being highly disturbing, what struck me as most interesting was that he mentioned he didn’t want the Flesh Hive to ‘win’ at something.”

“Win at what?” Jon asked. He was pacing a hole in the floor in front of his office.

“He didn’t say.” Sasha shrugged, “And what I asked what them ‘winning’ meant, he said something cryptic. I asked if he wanted to win and, again, cryptic.”

“So you learned that we don’t know stuff,” Tim said.

“But now we have a direction.” Sasha said, “We know where to look. And, I have a theory now.” she stood up and started walking herself, let her hands do some of the talking for her, “What the time traveller was talking about before, all his ominous stuff. I think one of these beings ‘won’ and he’s trying to stop it.”

“So whatever is up with Michael, this competition,” Jon concluded, “He’s involved.”

“At least broadly.”

But then the time traveller himself arrived, and they changed the subject.

* * *

Drinks were always a nice tradition. The four of them arrived together, ordered and sat down. They made a quick guess about Blackwood and just ordered him the same thing as Martin. He arrived just a few minutes after them, and froze in the doorway.

“Hey!” Tim called, much louder than was necessary and drawing quite a few eyes. “We’re over here!”

Blackwood, proving that he was still at least a little bit the Martin they all knew, turned bright red and hustled over. 

“There he is!” Tim said as Blackwood shuffled into the booth next to Sasha, “We thought you’d stood us up!”

“No, no,” Blackwood waved him off, “I just lost track of time a bit today.”

“You left early,” Sasha said. It was noticeable, he had been trying to spend more time with them since Prentiss. It made it much more obvious when he spoke to himself, or just stared vaguely into space. “Where were you all afternoon?”

“Doing future stuff. I’ve been mapping the tunnels under the Institute,” he looked around the pub in wonder, enough so that Sasha wondered when he’d last been here.

“Mapping them?” Jon asked instead, “Wouldn’t you have done all of that last time?”

“Did you see me come here with armloads of maps?” Blackwood said. His eyes still hadn’t stopped wandering the room, like he was trying to spot the mistakes. “Besides, the tunnels change a lot. I like it, it’s methodical.” then he got a very un-martin-like smirk on his face, “Or should I just do it the Jon way?” he asked with obvious drama.

Tim actually stood up from his seat, pushing Martin and Jon out of the way in his haste to ask, “The Jon way?”

“Okay, so imagine,” Blackwood settled in, holding up his hands. He had an evil, teasing glint in his eyes, “We didn’t exactly find the tunnels during great circumstances. Basically, I was the only person not on medical leave.” 

What kind of circumstances lead to that? Sasha shared a look with Martin, Tim was too busy looking at the story and Jon was too busy looking anywhere else. 

“Then I discover that  _ someone _ who is supposed to be on strict bed rest actually went out, bought a big torch and a machete, and has been running aimlessly into the tunnels.”

It was nice. Sasha listened to everyone talk, occasionally throwing in her own two cents. It was nice.

“Here,” she slid Blackwood’s drink to him once the conversation reached a comfortable lull. “We took a wild guess about what you’d want.”

“You guessed right,” Blackwood looked absolutely starstruck by the gesture. “Thanks,”

“I’ve got a rum and coke myself,” Sasha said, deciding he’d like the information. “Every time.”

Blackwood smiled. “Thanks.” he said, and Tim took the conversation from there.

* * *

After Blackwood left on Wednesday, they took to the office to work on the murder board and parse through their theories.

“Ok, so, it all happened between now and 2018.” Sasha started it off. “I wish we knew when in 2018.”

They had one string across the top of the cork board to act as a timeline. So far, they had sectioned it off into years, with a few tentative cards written.

“Let’s put it in the middle of the year.” Tim said.

“Alright,” Martin, who undoubtedly had the best handwriting of them all, wrote ‘They Won’ on a card and stuck it on. “I have a guess at who ‘they’ is.” he said.

“Yes?” Jon asked.

“The time traveller,” Martin said, “He said ‘we’ ended the world. I don’t know if he meant himself specifically or not, but it’s probably this place. The Eye, or whatever.”

“I wonder if he can fight against it?” Sasha said. “He’s definitely part of it, one of those avatars or whatever.”

“You think so?” Tim asked.

“Yeah,” Sasha shrugged. “I don’t really know how to describe it. Vibes, I guess. I’m not really scared of him, but something just feels  _ off _ around him. Like TV static on your skin. Or someone degaussing a really big monitor in your direction.”

“There was a lot of audio static during the Prentiss confrontation,” Martin said, already writing ‘static’ on a notecard.

“And what is with the tape?” Tim said, “He’s acting like it’s sentient. Is it like, a witch’s familiar? A creepy companion?”

“Maybe a conduit?” Jon suggested.

“Maybe it whispers all our secrets in his ears while he works,” Sasha said, making the appropriate voice for it to be a joke, but not the right faces.

‘Voyeur tape’ was added to the board.

“Sasha, did you get anything else out from Michael?” Jon asked.

“Well,” Sasha hummed. “When I asked him what he was, he was really cryptic. When I asked if he was the Twisting Deceit he said ‘do not confuse belonging with being.’ Said that if he was the Twisting Deceit I was the Archives.”

“The Archives?” Jon asked.

“That’s what he said,” Sasha kicked her legs under the chair, “From his phrasing I ‘belong to it’.”

“I mean,” Martin said, “Isn’t that kinda what the time traveller already said? He said we were trapped?”

“I don’t know,” Sasha said. “It just felt… different. Weird. He knew all of you by name, even knew about the time traveller. He called them plural, too.”

“All of us by name?” Jon said. “I’ll see into doing what Blackwood mentioned earlier and get on Elias for more security, good lord.”

“Something you’d think they’d tell you about the job,” Tim said, “Comes with a lot of baggage from the predecessor.”

* * *

When Sasha got home, there was something wrong. It took her a minute to figure out what it was, but then she found it. A bright yellow door, tucked away where there had never been a door before, and there should not be a door now.

Sasha knocked, of course. “Hello?”

“Hello.” Michael said back, behind her now.

“Is this a social call?” Sasha asked, though she already knew the answer.

“Not quite,” Michael said. “I have some questions, and I have information I can give in return.”

Sasha turned her phone off and set it down on the table. After how bad the others freaked out last time, she didn’t need to concern them again. “Alright, that sounds fair. What’s up?”

“What can you tell me about the Interlopers?”

She didn’t dismiss the idea outright. “You’ll have to be more specific,” Sasha leaned back on the couch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: after posting the chapter last week I immediately went outside and Broke my Foot (on accident). I'm fine now, but the comments made me extra happy last week!
> 
> Feel free to skip this part, because I'm about to babble about my opinion about Sasha's characterization for a bit, because I have Feelings. A lot of people like to characterize her as the one person with a braincell in the archives, and that if she was in charge nothing would have gone wrong and I just think that's... blatantly untrue? She makes rash decisions (meeting Michael in a cemetery at night)(i consider that on the same caliber as taking an axe to the table) and is pretty arrogant and dismissive of Jon and Martin's concerns (see episode 39, Sasha's convo with Elias). I think Sasha might even have a lesser opinion of Martin than s1 Jon, she's just quieter/politer about it(she talks about how Prentiss can't be that bad, because there's no way Martin could survive an actual threat).
> 
> (if she were the archivist, as the AUs like to posit, I think elias might have isolated her by tapping into her arrogance and becoming her sole confidant. I may or may not write that, most sasha-archivist AUs just annoy me lol. personal opinion, it's fine if you like them.)
> 
> But I totally think that SHE thinks she's the one braincell of the archives, she's just wrong. That influences a lot of how I write her.


	8. A little bit of Everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meeting a few ladies and setting up some things...

“Today’s the day Melanie’s supposed to show, right?” Martin asked as he went through the last steps of his morning routine.

_ Yes, _ Jon said,  _ I’m sorry I forgot to warn you sooner. I know you were planning on doing laundry. _

“It’s fine,” Martin waved him off and leaned against the table. “I can do it in the afternoon,” he took his tea and started walking to the Archives. It was still far too hot for him to drink now, but he knew it would be cool by the time he got to the Archives.

_ What are you going to tell her? _ Jon asked.

“Well, I’m not going to belittle her, for one.” Martin smiled.

_ I was in a place. _

“I know. It’s mostly funny in retrospect.” Martin said, “And, I dunno, maybe offer to let her use the library? Tell her that going off the well-beaten path can and will get her hurt.”

_ Oh yeah, like that will go well. _ Jon said,  _ even before the bullet, she had a serious chip on her shoulder. She’ll take that as a challenge. _

“I can at least try,” Martin got to the trapdoor and went through the delicate procedure of climbing up without dropping Jon or his tea.

(He and Jon both knew he’d drop Jon before dropping his tea. Tape recorders were more hardy than mugs full of hot liquid, after all.)

The Archives were much louder than they were supposed to be. Even from the back corner of the stacks, he could hear people talking. He walked into the main office, and saw all three of the assistants in a small huddle.

“Uh, hi?” Martin asked to get their attention, “It is Sunday, right?”

“Hey, the gang’s all here!” Tim said. “Yeah, you also planning on overworking?”

“Uh, the intersection of working hard and hardly working, I guess.” Martin set his mug on his desk. “Why are you all here?”

“Jon broke out of his flat to come in today,” Sasha said, which was probably a bit more dramatic than what actually happened. “Martin texted us so we’re all here to annoy him into giving up.”

“Oh. I support that, actually,” he said, “Where is he, then?”

“Someone came in with a statement?” past-Martin said, pointing to the door. Ah, that would explain the loud conversation, then.

“Melanie King?” Martin asked, and Sasha nodded. That’s right, they had that conversation about haunted-somethings last time too. Sasha had come in to keep Martin company while living in the Archives.

“Yeah,” Sasha said, “D’you know why she came in on a Sunday of all days?”

_ She’s a Youtuber. She doesn’t know what day of the week it is. _

“Okay, that’s just rude,” Martin said to him, then noticed Sasha’s face, “Wait, no, not you. Melanie’s just not great at knowing what day of the week it is. She gets distracted easily and she’s kinda having a tough time right now.”

“You know her?” Tim asked.

“Yes,” Martin said, then, “Well, not now. Not yet. It was some pretty spooky circumstances that led to us hanging out the first time.” then he had a thought, an absolutely evil thought. “And, if I play my cards right, you guys can hang out with her in a completely mundane way.”

_ Distract her by giving her a new target? Genius. _

“I have my moments.”

He pulled open the door to Jon’s office and, predictably, they were already at each other’s throats.

“Who cares about evidence!” Melanie was saying, “Who cares about scientific instruments, when you can just tell a story to the Magnus Institute.”

“Jon, hi,” Martin introduced himself, “What did I tell you Less Than A Week Ago? Turn off the damn tape recorder. Miss King, I’ll help you out. Come with me,”

She made a face at Jon as they left, and he guided her to one of the larger storage closets he’d hijacked and cleaned up. He sat down in the chair, and gestured for her to sit on the sofa.

“What was that all about?” Melanie asked when she was settled in.

“Oh,” Martin said, “He’s not allowed to take statements,” he pulled out a notebook and a pen, set up to look like he was going to take notes. He wasn’t actually going to, but Melanie would be pissed if he didn’t appear to do his due diligence. 

“What, why not?” She asked, “Isn’t he the ‘Head Archivist’ or whatever?” she sat stiffly on the couch, despite Martin’s best efforts to keep everything chill. Ah well, can only win so much.

“His behavior,” Martin hummed, tried to think of an explanation, “Isn’t exactly fit for human consumption. We’re working on it.”

“Yeah, right prick,” Melanie said.

“Okay, to be fair, you did start out the conversation by making fun of his hardware.” Martin said. “The tape recorders are pretty nice for keeping statements. Aesthetic.”

“Aesthetic.”

“C’mon, you work on the internet,” Martin said, “You can appreciate the value of sticking to an aesthetic.”

Apparently she could, because she let the sentiment drop. “Okay, fine. What do I do now?”

“Just start telling your story.” Martin said, making a point of uncapping the pen he wasn’t planning on using. “The military hospital, yes?”

* * *

Martin clicked his pen shut when Melanie was done with her statement. “I’m going to start this off with; I believe you.”

“Yeah, right,” Melanie said, “You’d believe just any yokel that comes into this place.”

“No we don’t, actually.” Martin said, “We have an entire section of the Archives dedicated to discredited statements. But we want people to come in here thinking we’ll believe them, we want people who are scared or have had bad experiences still feel comfortable to come here. Isn’t that why you came in? You thought that at least we’d believe you?”

“Huh,” Melanie said, “That makes sense, actually.” she very much did not answer the question.

“Besides,” Martin looked through his doodles like he was looking through notes, “The name Sarah Baldwin has actually shown up in people’s statements before.”

“Really?”

“Yes. She’s been classified as a missing person for quite a while at this point,”

“Should I call the police?” Melanie asked, “Or someone?”

Martin smiled, “That’s nice of you to offer,” he said, “But no. When someone reappears  _ wrong  _ after disappearing, we don’t tend to consider that as them coming back.”

“You make it sound like some Pet Semetery crap,” Melanie said. She leaned back, then her eyes got wide, “You don’t think it’s actually like that, right?” she sounded excited.

“Not like Pet Semetery specifically, no,” Martin said, “Not in this specific instance, at least.”

“So you think there could be a real-life Pet Semetery?” Melanie leaned forward, looking eager.

Christ, she just had no self-preservation instinct.

“I mean, it wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibility,” Martin said, that would fall under the End, maybe the Flesh or Stranger too, “But that’s besides the point,” he waved his hand to get her attention, “The thing is, these supernatural encounters can be dangerous.”

Melanie’s good mood soured. “Oh come on. You’re not going to do some ‘oh, this is dangerous don’t do it anymore’ lecture, right? This is what I do for a job.”

“And this is what  _ I _ do for a job.” Martin said. “And I’m not telling you to stop wholesale, I’m not that stupid. I’m just telling you to be cautious. These supernatural beings can, like, smell fear. They can tell that you’ve already had an encounter. They’ll come for you.”

“I don’t know,” Melanie said, “I’ve been doing this a long time, I’ve seen some stuff. Why would this time be any different?”

“Because this is the first time it really struck you,” Martin said. “Now you’re like, proper scared of them. That’s what they want. You’re like an unfinished feast. And they enjoy playing with their food.”

“Unbelievable,” Melanie said, “You are telling me to stop.”

“No, I am telling you to be careful.” Martin reiterated. “And I am offering you the use of our library to look into locations off the beaten path before you go there. You can also feel free to email me any questions or concerns you have.”

Melanie scrutinized him, like she was checking his very soul. “Okay.” she said, “I’ll take you up on that.”

“Okay,” Martin said, “I can probably coordinate with the library to start letting you in by next Monday. If you ask they can make you a repeat-visitor laminate card. We use them for students all the time, it won’t be a hassle.”

“Okay.” Melanie said, “That works for me.”

“Great,” Martin said, “Can I have some contact information to give to the library?”

“Yeah, of course,” Melanie started rambling off her phone and email. Martin could, realistically, have gotten the information off of Jon, but he didn’t want to scare Melanie off too early.

“That’s all I have, unless there’s something else you want to talk about.”

“No, that’s all.” Melanie said.

Martin stood up with her and followed her into the office. Exactly as he suspected, the past-gang were acting like they weren’t just eavesdropping.

“Oh yeah,” Martin said, like the thought had just occurred to him, and not like the idea had been stewing for ages. “Jon, you know Georgie Barker, right? From uni?” Tim and Sasha, huddled and whispering in the corner, looked up in perfect unison.

Jon turned around with a look of panic in his eyes. The tape cackled with laughter. “I…” he looked around. Martin raised his eyebrows, daring him to lie. “Yes?”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Melanie said, “ _ You’re _ ‘Jon from uni’?”

“Probably,” Jon admitted, defeated.

“Hold on,” Tim said, “Sounds like there’s a story there. I need it.”

“There are plenty of stories there,” Melanie said, then broke down laughing.

Sasha took over from there. “What’s your number? I need to hear about this.”

Tim huddled over with Sasah, and then Melanie was leaving with promises to pass the info along to Georgie to arrange a meet up sometime. Martin leaned up against the wall, glad his plan worked out.

“What was that for?” Jon asked as soon as Melanie was gone.

“Christ, you make it sound like I did something bad,” Martin said. “Georgie and Melanie are nice, Jon. They were good friends last time around. Melanie only stabbed you once, which I can really commend her for.”

“Only once?” past-Martin repeated.

“Yeah, the bar was kinda low by that point in time.” Martin said, “And he did kind of deserve it. It wasn’t serious. Just a little stab.”

“Like, with a pencil?” Tim asked.

“No, a knife.” Martin said, “No clue where she got it, though. Everyone was having a Time of it. We didn’t blame her. Or, they didn’t blame her. I don’t looking back. Or, rather, I’ve decided not to hold grudges, especially not when the stuff hasn’t happened yet.”

_ So you’re not going to hit Oliver? _

“No promises.” more staticky laughter ensued.

“You weren’t there?”

“No,” Martin said, “No I wasn’t, and I’d really not like to talk about that.”

There was a moment of tense silence.

“So,” Sasha said, “Stabbing with a knife was only a minor offense?”

“Talking with people who weren’t there, I realize how that sounds.” Martin agreed. “Them two were just too similar. Heh, Georgie kinda has a type.”

Tim’s smile got even bigger. That was when Martin realized what he just said.

“Wait! Don’t repeat that,” he said, “They aren’t dating yet.  _ Please _ don’t make it awkward.”

Jon looked faint. Tim and Sasha looked ready to attack, and past-Martin was having a crisis in the corner. Martin decided his work there was done, and left.

* * *

“Hey,” Sasha tapped Martin on the shoulder midway through the morning on Monday, “Can I talk to you for a mo?”

“Yeah, sure,” Martin closed his computer and followed her to the breakroom.

All of the other assistants were waiting for them there.

“Okay,” Martin said, “And what’s all this, then?”

“We have decided to officially initiate you into the ‘Get Jon Sims to Chill Out’ club.” Tim declared.

_ Oh my god, _ Jon said,  _ He’s going to hate this. _

“Absolutely,” Martin agreed. “He’ll hate it, but it’ll be good for him.”

* * *

Martin was skimming through statements on Wednesday when the phone on Tim’s desk started ringing. Martin didn’t think anything of it at first, other than Tim taking his usual long time to answer it.

_ Don’t let him answer. _ Jon said quickly,  _ I don’t know who’s calling. _

Well, that can’t mean anything good. Martin practically ran the two steps between his desk and Tim’s to grab the phone from his hand.

“Hello?” he answered.

“ _ Interesting,”  _ Said the woman on the other end, “ _ I believe I called Tim Stoker’s desk?” _

_ Annabelle, _ Jon offered, as if Martin hadn’t already figured that out for himself.

“Yes, well, I picked up.” Martin said.

“ _ Hm. Martin, yes? _ ” Annabelle mused. Martin could practically hear the smile on her face.

“Perhaps,” Martin responded in kind, “Although, I assume if you’re asking you know the answer to that, yes?”

“ _ Very well, _ ” Annabelle said. “ _ A very interesting rumor I’ve heard, though, is that there are now two of you.” _

“And how would you have heard that rumor, Annabelle?” Martin decided to make sure she knew he knew who she was.

(Although she probably knew that already.)

“ _ Oh, the Mother has her ways. _ ” Martin turned around to lean on the desk, and noticed everyone was staring at him. Fair enough. “ _ But you already know all about that, don’t you?” _

There was a yelp inside the Archivist’s office.

_ He’s going for the stapler -  _ Jon said.

“Just a mo, Annabelle,” Martin held the receiver to his chest. “Put the stapler down, Jon. One of you go help him with that spider, yeah?” past-Martin stood up, and future-Martin held the phone back up to his ear and hummed.

“ _ Let’s talk sometime,” _ She offered, “ _ I would be fascinated to hear your story. _ ”

“Really?” Martin asked, “I didn’t know stories were your thing.”

“ _ Yes, they do fall more under the purview of your lot, don’t they.” _ she shifted, sounded like she was walking somewhere. She didn’t go far, and soon she was sitting on something soft that rumpled under her weight. “ _ But I am ever so curious, Martin dear? Indulge me?” _

“I think you’d understand why I’d be a bit wary,” Martin said. “What would you be getting out of this and what would I be getting out of this?” past-Martin came out of the office with something trapped under a cup, and Jon stood just outside the door to listen in.

“ _ Can I not just want to make a social call?” _ Annabelle asked.  _ “Maybe I just want some of that hot future goss?” _

It shouldn’t be that surprising that she was listening in on their conversation at the pub last week.

“Sorry, Annabelle,” Martin said, “I will have to decline.”

“ _ All right.” _ Annabelle sighed, “ _ Offer’s open, anytime.” _

“Okay, Annabelle.” Martin hung up before she could say anything else.

“Who was that?” Sasha asked as soon as the phone was back on the hook.

“Annabelle Cane,” Martin said. “There’s a statement or so about her floating around here somewhere. A few more that don’t mention her by name, but it’s obviously her.”

“Who’s she?” Jon asked.

“A spider lady,” Martin gave the simple answer, then elaborated, “She’s an avatar of the Web, works for the Mother of Puppets. Her whole thing has kinda been giving me unsolicited and unhelpful phone calls.”

“What does she want?” Tim asked.

“A social call, apparently.” Martin said, “ ‘Hot future goss’ or whatever. You can never really tell what she’s after, though.”

“Is she dangerous?” Sasha asked.

“Hm? Oh, no,” Martin said, “She’s more of a manipulator. I still maintain that I could take her in a physical fight.”

Tim and Sasha started cracking up at that, “What?” he asked.

“Well, now I’m just imagining you having some Mexican standoff with some lady with eight legs.” Tim explained.

Okay. That was a bit of a mental image.

“No, she looks like a normal person,” Martin said, “Dresses a bit eccentrically, but to each their own. She’s full of cobwebs, though.”

Jon stuttered, “Full of cobwebs?”

“Yeah, it’s a thing,” Martin said. He shrugged, “If it was pleasant, none of this would be happening.”

* * *

A few days later, when things in the office had gone silent save for the clicking of keyboard keys, Jon came over the speakers with a harsh crackling that only happened when he was nervous.

_ Elias keeps calling. He’s not happy. I’ve been interfering, but I think he’s just going to come down here himself. _

Martin nodded and stood, “Alright,” he said. “Very weird request, but Tim, Martin, you two follow me please?”

_ I’ll stall. See if I can’t make the door stick. _

The two guys looked at each other, then shrugged. “Alright.” Tim decided.

“Okay, so, the short version is, Elias is coming down here and looking pretty annoyed, so I’m just going to deal with him. I want you two to go into the tunnels, and then stay exactly at the base of the ladder. Remember the serial killers I mentioned earlier? Don’t wander.”

Was it a bit of an over exaggeration? Absolutely. Martin just didn’t want them to wander, and they absolutely would unless they had a good enough explanation. 

“Wait, why both of us?” past-Martin asked as they got to the trapdoor and future-Martin opened it.

“Buddy system.” said Martin, “And besides, I don’t trust Sasha not to go running off as soon as she’s down there, warnings be damned.”

“Okay, fair enough.” past-Martin admitted.

Martin watched the two of them go down the steps. “Alright, you two just chill out and I’ll be back in like fifteen minutes.”

“What?” Sasha asked as soon as he came back to the office.

“Elias is on his way.” Martin said. “Just act like everything is normal, all right?”

Martin sat down at his old desk moments before the door at the top of the stairs finally opened, and Elias came down. It was hard pretending to act like himself, but he didn’t have to for too long.

“Martin, can you come up to my office please?” Elias asked. “Also, the phones down here are down. And the door stuck. Make sure Jon puts in a work order later.”

What would be a reasonable amount of stuttering? Martin just went with whatever came out, “I-I, yes alright.”

As he followed Elias up the stairs, he snuck a look at Sasha to make sure she knew he was alright. She just looked confused, probably from the show.

Martin stepped into Elias’s office just enough to be acceptable. He wrung his hands, and it felt like a bit much, “Yes?”

“I’ve noticed that things have been a bit strange in the Archives recently,” Elias said. “I wanted to know your opinion on it.”

_ I just realized, _ Jon said, _ his name. It’s ‘alias’. It’s so close, how did I never notice. _

So. That’s unhelpful.

“Uh, well,” Martin said, “We’re getting more used to it? Settling into the rhythm of organizing the statements. I’m sorry, I’m not quite sure what you’re asking?”

“Hm. I have noticed that.” Oh, there was some annoyance. “But recently Jon’s been trying to get me to increase security down in the Archives and change the fire suppression system. Says it’s related to your encounter with Prentiss?”

Oh. He was trying to goad Martin into giving a statement.

Martin noticed a dark stain on the rug. Some ink splattered, it would seem.

_ Yep, _ Jon confirmed,  _ He’s got a tape recorder stashed away. Smug. _

“Oh, oh, yes.” Martin said, “We think Jane’s interested in the Archives? We were just thinking, out of an abundance of caution. Might be worth it to beef up security a bit. And the CO2.”

“CO2?”

“For the worms.” Martin said. Then, probably a bit too confident. “And for fires too, I suppose. Would probably be better for the statements to be sprayed with CO2 than water. If there was a fire, of course.”

Elias recognized the threat. Good.

“Do you think all of that is necessary?” he asked, and Martin wasn’t necessarily sure he meant the worm precautions.

“Yes.” Martin said. “If, if it comes down to it, I suppose it would be justified.”

There was a moment of silence. “Alright, then,” Elias said, “You are dismissed.”

“Thank you,”

Martin went back downstairs and made a show of fake gagging when he found Sasha and Jon waiting in the main office.

“What did he want?” Jon asked.

“Just tried to goad me into giving a statement,” Martin said, “So I threatened him back. Subtly, but I think he caught on.”

“Didn’t you say he was like super-mega-evil?” Sasha said.

“Yes,” Martin said, “He can try to see into my head and traumatize me, but I’ve taken some precautions. I don’t think he suspects the time-travelling thing, though.”

They went into the stacks to pick up Tim and Martin. As soon as he started opening the door, they flew out and sat on the floor.

“Whoa, what happened?”

“There was a person,” Tim stuttered out, “There was someone else down there, I swear it!”

“Did you get a look at them?” Martin asked, “Tall, distorted figure or old man?”

“I don’t know!”

“O-old man,” past-Martin said, “I think I saw an old man. Not for long, though.”

“Okay.” Martin said, “Okay. You weren’t really in danger, though I understand that would be terrifying. He’s more pathetic than anything. You guys go back to the office and calm down.”

“And you?” Jon asked.

“I’m going to hunt him down.” Martin said, and took off into the tunnels himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter felt a little scatterbrained, but I needed to set a few things up for the coming weeks...  
> Thanks for all your comments, and I hope yall enjoy!  
> (also: Sasha's a big liar rn)


	9. Timothy!!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timothy!!!

“So, this is a bit weird, right?” Tim decided as soon as Blackwood’s footsteps had faded away.

“A bit?” Martin said. “It seems like a good enough hiding place at any rate, at least. I don’t know how I never noticed this.”

“Oh, yeah,” Tim said, “Me and Sasha found this place a week or so ago. Did you know he’s been living down here? He’s got a power cord going all the way to his room,” Tim pointed out the thick orange cord on the floor.

“What?” Martin looked down and saw that same cord, “When were you going to tell me and Jon about this?”

“Honestly, I forgot you didn’t know,” Tim said.

“Geez, Tim, this feels like something you should have said earlier.” Martin looked around, “And didn’t Blackwood mention something about serial killers down here? That’s some information I’d really like to know.”

“Alright, alright, geez,” Tim said, “Sorry. I’ll tell you sooner next time.”

“Yeah, it’s alright,” Martin said, “Sorry. It’s all a bit tense.”

“No I get that,” Tim said. He opened his mouth to say more, but instead there was a scuffling noise.

That wasn’t either of them.

They turned in the direction of the sound, and saw a figure. It wasn’t looking at them, it might not even know they were there, even. It was down the corridor a bit, hesitating in one of the intersections. It looked like it was reading something.

Martin and Tim froze, completely silent.

The other figure muttered something, and it sounded like an old man, though Martin couldn’t pick out any words. Then it looked up, right at them. It turned and started to run.

The trapdoor opened at that precise moment, the sudden creak loud in the sudden silence. They got out of there without even thinking about it, getting as far away as fast as possible. Now, in the comfort of the stacks, they were breathing heavily.

“Whoa, what happened?” Blackwood asked, cutting off his conversation with Sasha.

“There was a person,” Tim said, trying to catch his breath and figure what he’d seen, “There was someone else down there, I swear it.”

“Did you get a look at them?” Blackwood asked, kind but hard. “Tall distorted figure, or old man?”

Behind him, Sasha bit her lip.

“Old man,” Martin said, because it was true and he didn’t know what to make of Sasha’s face, “I think I saw an old man. Not for long, though.”

“Okay,” Blackwood nodded, and made his way past them to the trapdoor, “Okay. You weren’t really in danger, though I understand that would be terrifying. He’s more pathetic than anything. You guys go back to the office and calm down.”

“And you?” asked Jon, who was loitering way behind them. He looked shocked and worried, probably about the sudden presence of a trapdoor.

“I’m going to hunt him down,” Blackwood went down into the tunnels himself. Sasha shut the trapdoor after him.

“Okay then?” Tim said.

Sasha watched as Blackwood came back into the room, now without Martin and Tim.

“What?” she asked as he sat down at Martin’s desk and made himself at home.

“Elias is on his way,” he said, “Don’t worry about it, just act like everything is normal, okay?”

Then he transformed, right before her eyes. Suddenly, it was normal, nervous Martin sitting in front of her; the Martin she wouldn’t have believed could survive an encounter with anything more supernatural than the tube.

She didn’t like that apparently he could do that now, but she didn’t do anything about it as Elias came down the stairs and Blackwood went up with him.

Jon poked his head out of his office, “Was that Elias just now?” He asked.

“Yeah,” Sasha said, “He wanted to talk to Martin in his office. Blackwood went with him though.”

“On purpose?”

“On his part, not Elias’s.” Sasha said. “He’s got Martin and Tim hiding in the tunnels.”

“Why?”

“He said Elias looked annoyed.” Sasha said, then shrugged. “He was scary good at imitating Martin though.”

“How good?”

“If I hadn’t watched him and Martin standing next to each other I would’ve thought Martin just changed in the backroom.”

“Oh,”

That was when Blackwood came back down stairs. He didn’t look like he had before he left, acting exactly like Martin, and it actually annoyed Sasha because she wanted Jon to see too.

Then they followed him into the stacks, to the trapdoor, and she forgot all about that.

“So,” Tim asked when they had adjourned back to the office, gathered around the murder board, “What do you think that was all about?”

“He wants to catch the man, obviously.” Martin said.

“Oh yes, thank you Martin for your ever so valuable insight.” Jon said, almost not thinking about it.

“That’s unnecessary,” Tim said.

“Well, I don’t think we’re going to be able to figure anything else out,” Sasha said, “Let’s just add that he wants to catch an old man to the list. Martin?”

“Okay.” he took out a notecard and wrote it down with a flourish.

Blackwood came back up a few minutes later, absolutely seething with silent rage.

“So, uh, what happened?” Tim dared to ask.

“He got away.” Blackwood crossed his arms at his desk. “He built a new wall and ran away.”

Tim, Sasha and Martin shared a look. “He built a wall?” Sasha asked eventually.

“Creepy magic book.”

* * *

“Jon?” Martin asked on Saturday morning, sitting on the couch and reading a book. “Where are you going?” Jon froze, shoulders near his ears and looking ashamed. He was obviously creeping towards the door.

“Ah, nowhere.” he said, and tried to stand in a very-not-suspicious way.

“Alright,” Martin said, “Because it did look a bit like you were trying to worm your way out of going to lunch with everyone.”

“What? No. Don’t be ridiculous.” Jon said, in a way that totally didn’t sound like he was avoiding the topic.

“Great then,” Martin said, “Because I’m sure that Sasha would hunt you down for sport if you did that.”

“And Georgie too, honestly.” Jon admitted, and sat down on one of the other chairs. Martin didn’t take it (too) personally that Jon seemed allergic to sitting on the same couch as him.

“You haven’t said much,” Martin said, “About Georgie before.” it wasn’t a question, even though he was hopelessly curious.

“We haven’t talked in forever.” Jon said, “I never saw why it would be relevant.”

Martin shrugged. That was an understandable reason, really. He let the room get quiet, even though he wasn’t reading. “In any case, we should probably leave soon.”

“Yes, alright.”

They didn’t talk on the way to the small sandwich shop where they’d all agreed to have lunch. Jon seemed to prefer to act like strangers when they were in public, for some reason.

Martin preoccupied himself with checking the new group chat incessantly. Sasha had organized it, titled  _ Gasp! More people!!!! _ and added two unknown numbers that introduced themselves as Georgie and Melanie.

Apparently they were a podcaster and youtuber respectively. Martin didn’t listen to a lot of ghost story things, so he only vaguely recognized the names of their channels. Apparently Georgie went to uni with Jon. That was all he knew.

Well, that and the date and time of the meeting which is what he kept on checking. He just wanted to make sure he showed up at the right place at the right time, okay? It was fine. It was fine.

Tim and Sasha were already at the shop, which was a blessing for Martin. They easily absorbed him and Jon into their conversation, without either of them really needing to say much.

“There they are,” he heard, and saw Melanie King walking down the block towards them, with another woman with her. “The other guy’s not with you?” she asked.

Oh, perfect. They had been a bit worried she would get Martin and Blackwood confused. Apparently her face memory was bad enough that they didn’t have to worry, though.

“He couldn’t come,” Sasha said. “It’s nice to see you again, Melanie. And I assume you’re Georgie?”

“Yep, that’s me.” she said, “And you’re Sasha.”

Sasha laughed. “How could you tell?” she pointed vaguely at the three guys around her.

Georgie caught the joke, “Lucky guess.”

Martin and Tim went through the motions of introducing themselves, and Jon seemed like he was trying to disappear.

“Long time no see,” Georgie said to him.

“Ah, yeah,” he said, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. He didn’t like the sudden, random collision of different parts of his life.

Georgie rolled her eyes, “It’s nice to see you again.” she tried.

“Yes,” Jon said. “You too.”

Tim watched the exchange with an almost pained look on his face. When it was clear no one was going to speak, he did, “Well, let’s go inside then.”

“Yes, let’s.” Sasha agreed.

The sandwich shop was a bit busier than they’d expected, so they sent Sasha and Martin to get a table while the rest of them ordered. Martin and Sasha left their orders with Tim to get for them.

(They didn’t say it, but they hardly trusted Jon to remember his own order.)

Martin and Sasha weren’t able to find a table for six people, but they were able to find a table for two and a table for four close enough together that they could push them together. The rest came a few minutes later, with numbered tents for their orders.

Sasha was prepared to carry the conversation herself, for which Martin was glad. He had spent many a social gathering sitting in awkward silence rather than conversing.

“So, how’d you get into podcasting?” Sasha asked, which was as good a conversation starter as any.

“I studied English in Uni,” Georgie said, “I really liked telling stories, doing them up with silly sound effects. I put them online to share with friends, then I guess some people who weren't my friends found them. How did you get into paranormal academia? It doesn’t seem like something someone sets out to do.”

“Oh, I didn’t specifically set out for  _ paranormal _ academia, just normal academia.” Sasha said, “I cast a wide net and the Institute got back to me. It seemed more interesting than working at a university or museum, at least.”

Georgie turned to Tim. Oh no, were they going around the table?

Tim just shrugged, “Limited opportunities at my old job, saw an ad for this place.” he did not elaborate.

“Same as Sasha,” Martin said, which was a convenient enough lie.

“And I already know why Jon’s there.” Georgie dismissed.

“Wait, what do you mean?” Tim asked.

“Because he’s always been into this spooky stuff?”

“What? No.” Tim said, “Are you telling me Mr. Skeptic was super spooky in uni?”

“Skeptic?” Georgie said, then turned to Jon, “When did that happen?”

Wait, what?

“Wait, what?” Sasha asked.

Jon frowned. “I was reprimanded,” he said after a moment, “For not being skeptic enough.”

“Geez, Jon,” Sasha said, “There’s a difference between cautious skepticism and outright denial.”

“Yeah, well, it seemed safer at the time,” Jon grumbled and ate his sandwich.

“So, how did you two meet in uni?” Melanie asked, “It doesn’t really seem to me that you would’ve crossed paths.” she didn’t say it, but everyone knew what she was thinking. They did not look like they were close enough in age to have classes together, so there must be a story. Knowing Jon, probably humorous in retrospect.

“Oh, yeah,” Georgie shrugged, “It really wasn’t a thing. I took a gap year, so we were in the same year and had a bunch of classes together.”

“Wait,” Tim said, “ _ You’re _ the older one?”

Georgie’s jaw dropped, “How old did he claim to be?”

“37.” Jon fessed up.

“A full decade?” Georgie started laughing, “Jonathan!”

“A full decade!” Tim said, but for a completely different reason.

Sasha was the one who finally managed to drag them into a conversation beyond bad ice breakers, and they wound up having a very nice discussion about obviously faked ghost stories. That was something that everyone could discuss.

* * *

“Have fun Saturday?” Blackwood asked, already waiting in the basement when they arrived. 

“You didn’t tell us!” Tim accused.

Blackwood blinked. “Didn’t tell you what?”

“That Bossman here is the baby of the Archives!”

Blackwood snorted and broke into chuckles. “The baby.” he tilted his head, then said, “Oh come on, it’s funny.”

Sasha smiled, “Yes, we had fun.” She said, “They were nice,”

“You weren’t the one they were teasing.” Jon muttered, but still hovered in the main office with everyone.

“Well, that’s because you make yourself very teasable.” Tim explained, like it was just that simple.

“We’re doing it as friends,” Sasha said, “You realize that, right?”

“Yes, fine,” Jon rolled his eyes, “Just get to work.” he finally shoved past them to go into his office, looking plenty red.

Blackwood watched him with a weird, almost downright sappy look on his face. “What’s that face about?” Sasha asked, because she was never one to settle for quietly curious.

“Oh,” Blackwood shrugged, “It just took more than half of us dying to get him that open before. It’s nice.”

Tim scrunched his face as he did those mental maths in his head and, like Sasha, came up with zombies. Sasha shrugged, she certainly didn’t know.

Blackwood sat down at his computer, and opened it to watch the screen load. At this point, Sasha didn’t know why he even bothered. His computer was so slow, it might actually be easier for him to go hunt down actual reference books in the library.

Then he just loaded up solitaire and played a very slow game.

The reason why became apparent later that morning, with a very heavy pair of footsteps coming down the stairs. Blackwood stood up and waited at the base of the stairs for the owner to make themself known - a generic looking delivery man.

“Hi,” Blackwood said, “I can take that for you.”

“Sorry,” the man said in a cockney accent that was too thick to be real, “Delivery for the Archivist.”

“I know,” Blackwood held his hand out, “But he’s occupied at the moment. I will pass it along to him.”

The delivery man looked him up and down. “Alright,” he said at last, and placed a small parcel into Blackwood’s hand. He held it like it was dangerous - think of it, it probably was.

The delivery man watched as Blackwood turned to gingerly put it down on his desk, then turned and started back up the stairs.

“Oh, and Breekon?” Blackwood asked, “Has your partner already delivered the table?”

The delivery man, probably named Breekon, stopped in his tracks. “Yeah,” he said after a long moment. “And?”

Blackwood sucked on his teeth. “If I give you an address, will you ship the coffin to it?”

There was something in Breekon’s eye, but he just shrugged. “Sure.”

“Lovely,” Blackwood held out an envelope, then turned and sat down at his desk, watching Breekon. Breekon just walked up the stairs, envelope in hand.

“What was that?” Martin was the first one to break the silence this time.

“Breekon, one half of Breekon and Hope, Super Creepy Deliverymen Extraordinaire. Don’t worry, they’re fairly neutral unless you piss them off.” Blackwood took the parcel and slid it into one of his desk drawers. “And sorry to ask you all this, but it’s really for the best if Jon doesn’t know this exists at all.”

“What is it?” Sasha asked.

“Not going to tell you that,” Blackwood said, “It seems extremely innocuous, but it’s caused us so much strife. So I’m going to get rid of it.”

Tim and Sasha shared a look. They were totally going to steal that later, whatever it was.

“Okay, so, kind of a weird request.” Blackwood stood up, “I’m going to go grab some supplies, then I’m going to need your help getting that table.”

“The table?” Tim asked.

“The one Breekon and Hope just delivered, yeah.” Blackwood said. “It’s just too dangerous to leave out in the open. I’ve got a place where we can put it.”

Blackwood left, then came back with an armload of tarps and duct tape.

“So, just a few ground rules.” he said, dumping the things on the floor. “The artefact, the table, is extremely dangerous. Way too dangerous to leave in Artefact Storage, even in the highest level of security. We’re going to hide it in the tunnels.”

“Why in the tunnels?” Sasha asked.

“Well, for one there’s not very many people there to accidentally run across it.” Blackwood said, “And two, there are a lot of unoccupied out-of-the way rooms we can hide it in.”

“What’s so dangerous about it?” Tim asked.

“It’s got a monster trapped inside.” Blackwood fussed around with the supplies in a very  _ Martin  _ way. “Which leads to the next ground rule: absolutely never ever be alone with the table. The monster will Eat you. Hell, it might even eat you if you’re not alone.”

“Then what makes it safe for us to move it?” Martin asked, still sitting at his desk, but his computer screen was dark.

“I’m here,” Blackwood said, “And it’d be smart enough not to take any of you while we’re Watching it. Sasha, could you help me go get the table from Artefact Storage?”

“Yeah, sure,” she followed him out of the room. As they walked across the main floor, she turned to him. “So, when you said it was one of the artefacts that killed me…”

“This one.” Blackwood nodded, “It should be fine now, though. I’ve got a plan, and a contingency plan.”

“How long have you been planning all this?”

“If I’m honest? Not as long as I would have liked.” he shrugged, “I only sat on the idea for a week before coming back in time. I have plans, but some things I’m just figuring out as I go.”

“Only a week?” Sasha asked, “Usually didn’t take you for the impulsive type.”

“Surprised myself, too.” he laughed, “I just didn’t want to talk myself out of it.”

It wasn’t too hard to talk Artefact Storage into letting them have the table, though it was hard to maneuver it down the stairs. They taped the tarp over the table several layers thick.

“So, is this supposed to trap the monster or something?” Tim asked as they put down the third layer of tarps.

“Probably not, but I’m casting a wide net,” Blackwood said. “Something’s gotta work. Best bet is just to avoid it, though.”

It was significantly harder to get it down into the tunnels, and they had to wrestle Jon out of his office to help. They walked it a few intersections into the tunnels before Blackwood declared he could handle the rest himself and shooed them out.

* * *

“So what was all that?” Jon asked when they were doing their murder-board session after Blackwood left for the day.

“Apparently,” Sasha said, “That was what killed me last time.”

“Oh.” the room went silent. It was a very effective conversation ender.

“I’m glad that’s handled, then.” Jon said, and they added person-eating tables to the board, but now with an X through it. “Now there’s just the worms to worry about.”

“So exactly where we were before.” Tim said.

“Just a bit more stressed.” Sasha agreed.

* * *

They were having another lunch with Georgie and Melanie, because they were genuinely nice people and fun company. And a little bit because it was fun to watch Jon squirm. This time they were at a Hungarian restaurant, at Georgie’s insistence. Apparently she liked Hungarian, and Sasha did too.

The food was starting to take a hot minute, so they tried the trick of sending Melanie to the toilets (sending someone to the toilet always caused the food to show up, after all,) but she came back before the food did.

“Okay, I’m going to sound kinda pathetic,” she said, always the best way to start a sentence, “But there’s like a shitton of worms near the toilets. Like, a truly disturbing amount of worms.”

Georgie started laughing, but she was the only one. Everyone else stood up.

“Worms?” Sasha asked, “Like, quick little silver ones?”

“I… yeah.” Melanie looked at them, “Are you okay?”

“Where are the toilets?” Sasha asked, and Melanie pointed towards the corner where she came from. Yeah, that was probably obvious.

“Are you okay?” Georgie asked.

“We’ve been having worm problems,” Tim said, “Apparently they eat people.”

“Okay, so this is a joke.” Georgie confirmed.

“Absolutely not.” Martin said. They went to investigate, Melanie and Georgie trailing behind the archival gang.

There was a disturbing number of worms, yes. But, fortunately, it wasn’t enough to be truly threatening yet. Sasha was suddenly glad she had worn boots today, and she stomped through the mess to the door.

It smelled of rot, the same cloying, heavy stench that had hovered in the air near Martin’s flat. The worms popped and oozed and squirmed all around her and under her feet. The wood door looked like it had aged thirty years overnight, and it hadn’t aged well. When she opened the door, it was loud and protesting.

Her first thought was: why is there a man in the women’s room?

Her second thought: oh shit, the man has Worms.

Everyone else seemed to come to that same conclusion as her, because Melanie screamed (only a little) and Martin took a CO2 extinguisher off the wall and started firing at the worms with it.

Tim got his voice back first, and he yelled at them to run while grabbing Jon by his jacket and Martin by the arm. Sasha similarly grabbed Melanie and Georgie, and they took off into the street and didn’t stop until they’d gotten to a park where the air was clear. At one point the extinguisher fell and hit the ground hard, but nobody cared enough to stop and pick it up again.

“What was that?” Georgie demanded as soon as she had her voice back. She seemed the calmest out of all of them, somehow.

“Flesh Hive,” Jon said, “That’s what we’ve been calling them. But we’ve only ever seen a woman…”

“Shit, it’s the worm sex isn’t it.” Tim said, which was completely out of context, but Sasha did remember the time traveler mentioning something about worm sex.

“Man eating worms,” Sasha clarified. “And like… a mind controlling parasite? Not super sure on that front.”

“Great, man eating worms.” Melanie glared like this was somehow their fault. "What else!"  


“It’s not like we knew he would be there!” Jon rose to the challenge of who could cause the most problems.

“No infighting,” Sasha said.

“Yeah,” Martin agreed. “They like to chase people down,” he looked around nervously.

“Oh, of course they do,” Melanie started pacing. There were other people in the park, Sasha was starting to realize, and those other people were starting to stare. Oh well.

“I’ll call for backup,” Sasha said, pulling her phone out and praying Blackwood was somewhere with service. “Do not go off alone.”

“Do I look like the white girl in a horror movie? Don’t answer that!” Melanie kept pacing.

Her phone rang once, twice, then got halfway through a third ring before someone picked up.

“ _ Hello? _ ” Blackwood asked.

“Hey, yeah, we have a problem.” Sasha started off with.

“ _ Okay, _ ” Blackwood said, and there were the sounds of a coffeeshop in the background. “ _ What kind of problem and where? _ ”

“Um, a worm man?” Sasha said, “Like, Jane Prentiss but it’s a man. And it was at a restaurant, but now we’re at a park.”

“ _ Worm man? What _ -” there was some muttering on the other end of the phone, Blackwood acting like he was having a whole other conversation on the side. “ _ Shit, it’s Timothy Hodge. I didn’t even think of that _ .”

“The worm sex guy?”

“ _ Of course Tim latched onto that. It is all four of you, right? _ ”

“Yes, and Melanie and Georgie.”

“ _ Of course. _ ” Blackwood said, then more muttering ensued. “ _ Where are you? _ ”

Sasha made the appropriate hand gestures, and Jon rattled off some street signs to her, which she then relayed to Blackwood.

“ _ Okay. Okay. _ ” Blackwood said, audibly walking somewhere. “ _ So, all of my Flesh Hive hunting materials are in the Archives- _ ”

“Hey, guys?” Georgie interrupted whatever Blackwood was going to say, “Remember how you said these  _ things _ like to follow people?”

Sasha turned and followed Georgie’s finger. Sure enough, there was Timothy Hodge making his way down the street. Whatever few people had been milling about before had suddenly found better places to be apparently.

“Okay, yeah,” Sasha said into the phone, “He’s coming down the street now. We had an extinguisher, but it’s empty or dropped or something.”

“ _ Right. You are all still together, right? _ ” Blackwood asked. Sasha did a quick headcount and reported that, yes, all six of them were still present and accounted for. “ _ So, I was planning on telling you to meet me at the Institute, but it sounds like the situation is a little bit more immediate than that. I’m gonna give you some instructions, okay? _ ”

“I’m listening,” Sasha said, taking mental notes as he gave her instructions to some back alley somewhere to meet him at. She, personally, didn’t think it would be a great idea to fight with a Flesh Hive out back by the dumpsters, but it wasn’t up to her to decide. She hung up.

“I’ve got a place for us to meet with backup,” Sasha said, “Come on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear, that first scene with everyone and Georgie and Melanie caused be physical pain to write... it all feels so awkward... I'm done trying to fix it, so enjoy.  
> (All these scenes with like six plus people in them are so hard... how do six people have a conversation at once? they don't. why did I do this to myself.)
> 
> Oh yeah! I also like the idea that Jon was at the very least not as much of a skeptic before the series as he was in s1 (see the "you know how /those two/ are" line)
> 
> Also, to everyone who figured Timothy Hodge would be coming back: Congrats! You prize is worms.


	10. Worms!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here they come here they come here they come

Martin was, all in all, having a pretty good day. He’d gotten to the shops early to do his shopping without any crowds, then had a lazy morning at home. It was his off day, he’d decided, where he wouldn’t have to do any work.

Then he went to a cafe for lunch and got a call from Sasha.

“Am I a bad person for wanting to let it ring?” he asked.

_ It is your off day. _ Jon said.  _ You don’t have to answer it. _

“Yes,” Martin knew that, “But Sasha probably wouldn’t call if it wasn’t an emergency.”

_ Then pick up _ .

“Stop being so reasonable,” Martin did pick it up, even though he hated it, “Hello?”

“ _ Hey, yeah, we have a problem. _ ” Sasha said, sounding out of breath. People were talking in the background, loudly.

“Okay. What sort of problem and where?” Hopefully it was just something that he could talk her through on the phone, please just be something he could talk her through on the phone -

“ _ Um, a worm man? Like Jane Prentiss, but a man. And it was at a restaurant, but now we’re in a park. _ ”

“A worm man? What?” Martin wracked his brain, then he asked Jon, “Do you know about a worm man?”

_ Not off the top of my head, _ he said with a small crackle of static as he thought. Then,  _ oh no, we told Sasha not to meet with Michael. _

“Yes, and she didn’t?”

_ And if she didn’t, then she didn’t go to the cemetery, then she didn’t go to see Timothy Hodge… _

“Shit it’s Timothy Hodge. I didn’t even think of that,” he stood up. This was definitely something that he needed to tend to, then.

“ _ The worm sex guy? _ ” Sasha asked, and nearly made Martin trip.

“Of course Tim latched onto that. It is all four of you, right?”

Martin went into the street. All his Hive hunting equipment was in the Archives, because he wasn’t expecting having to duke it out with a Flesh Hive on the street. “ _ Yes, and Melanie and Georgie. _ ”

“Of course,” Martin sighed. He had supplies for Melanie, because there was a chance she could still work in the Archives and he didn’t want to be caught off guard. He didn’t have anything for Georgie, though.

He said to Jon, “I knew it was a mistake forcing them to make friends.”

_ It’s a bonding experience. _

“Heh. That’s one word for it.” Then, talking to Sasha who had been ever so patient with his little asides, “Where are you?”

He listened to Sasha relay the location, some park somewhere.

_ Hah, _ Jon said,  _ sounds like they were at the Hungarian place Georgie likes. _

“We’ll see if she still likes it after this.”

_ She will. _

“Okay, so all of my Flesh Hive hunting material is in the Archives,” he started to relay to her, but then Georgie interrupted in the background. She didn’t sound panicked, but she did sound urgent.

“ _ Okay, yeah. _ ” Sasha said, “ _ He’s coming down the street now. We had an extinguisher but it’s empty or dropped or something. _ ”

“Right. You’re all still together?” Martin asked, because step one was always to stay together. Hopefully this bunch had seen enough horror movies to at least know that fact. Jon rattled off to him the closest tunnel entrance while Sasha counted and confirmed everyone was there. “So, I was planning on telling you to meet me at the Institute, but it sounds like the situation is a little bit more immediate than that. I’m gonna give you some instructions, okay?”

“I’m listening,” Sasha said. Then, after she had repeated the instructions back to him, she hung up.

“Hm.” Martin pulled the phone away from his ear. “I would have preferred her to stay on the line, actually.”

_ But that’s Sasha for you. _

“But that’s Sasha.” He was a bit further from the alley way than the rest of them, so he started running down the street. It was a bit slow going, because there were so many pedestrians, so he tapped into the Lonely. Suddenly, people weren’t around him any more, and an odd feedback rang in his ears.

He focused on the static from Jon as he approached the alley, then people were around him again.

_ Are you alright? _ Jon asked,  _ I know you don’t like doing that. _

“I’m fine,” Martin shook his hands, trying to get feeling back into his chilled fingertips. “And I’d prefer not to, but I also don’t want the others to get Wormed. The least the Lonely could do would be helpful.”

_ Fair enough. _

It was just in time, because the others came around the corner then, all six of them. They weren’t necessarily running, but they were certainly moving with hustle.

“What the hell is all this?” Melanie asked as soon as she was within sight.

“The Flesh Hive.” Martin said, although he would have expected the others to have told her that already, “Or one of them, I guess. There are two now.”

“Why are there two of you?” Georgie asked past-Martin, who panicked and looked at Sasha.

“Uh, well,” Sasha floundered for an answer.

_ Might as well tell Georgie. She’s already had an encounter at this point. _

“Time travel is a thing.” Martin said, “After what you’ve seen, it doesn’t seem too out there, does it?”

Georgie looked him up and down. “I guess not.” she decided. “Is it just you?”

Martin shrugged, “I’m kinda the only one left. Thus why I came back, when the opportunity presented itself.”

“That sucks.” Melanie said, “What are we doing about worm man?”

“Right, that,” Martin pulled off the grating to the tunnel entrance. It was sticky, but not too bad. Martin had made sure to explore all the entrances to the tunnel he could find, so he was confident in his ability to find the Archives from here. “This is a shortcut to the Archives. I have supplied to exterminate the Flesh Hive there.”

“What do you use to kill that?” Georgie asked.

“CO2, mostly.” Martin said, “Your feet, if there are few enough worms. I heard one of you grabbed an extinguisher earlier?”

“Yeah, that was me,” past-Martin said.

“Good thinking.” Martin smiled at him, “Anyways, I have a few ground rules about our tunnel adventure,”

“Can they wait?” Tim asked, “Worm man coming in hot,” he pointed behind him.

Martin looked around him, and sure enough there was a worm person coming down the street. He looked a lot like Jane Prentiss, grey skin mottled with worm holes, more oozing down the street than walking. It should be illegal for these rot monsters to move so fast.

“Of course he is,” Martin rolled his eyes, “Okay, buddy system. Everyone in, now.”

They got in the buddies Martin was expecting. Tim and Sasha went in first, followed by Melanie and Georgie, then Jon and Past-Martin went in last. Them two looked the most reluctant to buddy up, but not resentful. Interesting. Martin followed them all in, and closed the grating behind them.

“Is everyone okay?” Martin asked.

_ I’m good _ , Jon said, knowing the question was more meant for him. Martin knew how uncomfortable the tunnels were for him.

Everyone else muttered and agreed that they were good too, so Martin started off walking. He tried to exude confidence. “So, another ground rule, stay in sight of at least me at all times. It is extremely easy to get lost in these tunnels.”

“Looks like it,” Georgie looked around, “What is this place?”

“It’s some of the tunnels from the old Millbank Prison.” Martin responded, “Except the fears have gotten their hands into it. This place doesn’t really correlate to any one fear, and it makes them all equal. That means, when Hodge follows us in he won’t really have an advantage. Unfortunately, we won’t really have an advantage either.”

“Fears?” Melanie repeated, and Martin realized he was going to have to have this conversation again.

“It’s a bit complex to explain at the moment,” he said, which was true. “Short version is that there are these nigh-all-powerful fear beings that interfere with the world to feed off fear. That’s how all the creepy stuff that can’t be explained happens. Hodge back there is affiliated with one of them.”

“And you are too?”

“Sort of,” Martin shrugged, “It’s a bit more complex than that. We all are, kinda, by the Archives. I am a bit more closely affiliated.”

“And Sarah Baldwin?” Martin felt Melanie’s glare burning on his back.

“The Stranger.” Martin said, “Fear of the unknown, the uncanny valley. One of their things is stealing people’s skins and identities, taking over their lives. That’s what happened to Sarah Baldwin.”

“Identities?” Tim asked, tensing up.

“Not always,” Martin was quick to assure. “Sometimes they steal just the skin, if it’s any comfort.”

“I don’t know,” Tim said, which was a fair enough answer.

“And one of these is death?” Georgie asked.

“Yeah, the End. The inevitable fate that awaits all things.”

Georgie just nodded. “That makes sense.” she said.

Martin led them through the tunnels, eventually stopping just outside his room. “Okay, so, if we all get separated, this is the room where we’ll meet.” he said, “There’s a power cord on the floor, it goes all the way to the Archives. I know I just made a fuss about all staying together, but I want you all to stay  _ right here _ in the hallway while I get some supplies.”

“What don’t you want us to see?” Jon asked, fully accusing in his tone. Martin reminded himself it was just the stress. Unfortunately, he was stressed too.

“There’s nothing I’m hiding in there, it’s just far too small for all of us to fit in at once.” he explained, careful to keep his own tone in check.

“It’s true, man,” Tim piped up, “Me and Sasha have been in there before.”

“What is it?” Georgie asked.

“Where I’ve been living the past couple of months.” he ducked into the room to avoid Georgie’s disapproving glare. Some things never changed.

He made his time in the room as quick as possible, grabbing the three extinguishers he had in there, and the map of the tunnels he’d made. He was glad he had started marking the tunnels with white paint, now.

“Each group gets an extinguisher,” he explained when he came out, passing around the extinguishers. “And one group gets a map. You shouldn’t need it but, again, I don’t know what’s coming down the pike.” he handed the map to Georgie.

“You planned for this?” she asked.

Martin shrugged, “For a certain definition of planned. I dealt with the Flesh Hive in the past, but that time there was only one and it didn’t go at all like this.”

“Where did the extra one come from?” Melanie asked.

“An oversight on my part.” Martin shrugged. “Don’t worry, I can handle it.” then he paused, and mentally cursed. He looked over his shoulder at the past counterparts, “Jon, did you get Elias to replace the fire suppression system yet?”

_ Shit. _ said his Jon.

The silence from past-Jon was deafening.

“That’s fine,” Martin sighed. “That was only plan A.”

_ Please tell me what plan B is? _

“Now is not the time,” Martin said to him. “I’ll think of something, okay?”

“Uh, what?” Melanie asked.

“Oh, not you.” Martin didn’t have to explain it any further than that. “Let’s get going now, shall we?”

Georgie and Melanie shared a look, Sasha whispered something to them. Probably just a comment about how Martin was just crazy.

They walked for a few minutes before Melanie asked another question, “So what do we call you?”

“Oh, uh,” Martin shrugged. “I haven’t really thought about it, actually.”

“We’ve been calling him Blackwood.” Sasha said.

“Oh, really?” Martin asked, “I hadn’t noticed. Works well enough, I guess.” he let his hands fall to wring about his ring.

There was another tense moment of silence. “I see a ring.” Georgie said, sounding more bored with the silence than anything.

“Ah, yeah.” Martin said, fiddling with it even more, with the unfortunate side-effect of drawing even more attention to it.

It wasn’t a fancy ring, just a piece of metal he could play with when he was anxious, a physical reminder that he wasn’t alone. It didn’t feel right to him to make some big deal out of it when Jon didn’t have a body.

“Married?” Georgie asked. Past-Martin squeaked behind her.

“Yeah,” Martin said, “He’s great.”

“Then why are you here without him?”

Oh. This was an interrogation.

“Hm.” Martin said, and didn’t answer. He didn’t have to tell her. She, probably assuming it was linked to the comment about him being the last one left, let the conversation drop.

_ How did none of these people end up with Beholding? _ Jon asked, to try and lighten the mood.

“I appreciate the attempt.” Martin told him, and left it at that.

Then, after a few more steps, Jon spoke up again.

_ Do you hear that? _ He asked,  _ It’s really faint, _

Martin held up a hand and stopped walking. Everyone else stopped walking too. They got his need for silence, and didn’t say anything. After a moment of nothing, he said, “I think you need to get your ears checked.”

_ No, no, I swear I heard something. _ Jon said,  _ Something… slimy. Give me a second, I’m gonna go have a look. _

“Wait, what? No, why?” Martin asked, feeling the static in his ears grow quieter and the pounding of his heart getting louder, “No, come back.” he held onto his headphones cords.

Then the static was back, loud and frantic with panic.  _ Worms, _ Jon said,  _ between here and the Archives. They’re Hodge’s, not Prentiss’, I can just tell. I think he went around us when you stopped to get the map. _ He was doing his own closest approximation of panting, the static flaring between his words, making him hard to understand.

“Shit,” Martin cursed, “Are there a lot?”

_ Not as many as when Prentiss attacked, _ Jon said,  _ but enough that three extinguishers definitely isn’t enough, not even for one person. _

“Shit,” Martin cursed again, “Do you think we can circumvent them?”

_ Try going the outermost left route, _ Jon said,  _ I think the worms were all coming from the right. _

“Okay,” Martin said, then he turned to the very confused group of past folk behind him. “Okay, there’s a barricade of worms in front of us.” he said, “I think we can go around it, though.”

“How do you know that?” Sasha asked.

Martin didn’t have time for this. “I just do.”

“I thought you said the Eye wouldn’t have as much power down here?” she continued.

“Yeah, well, sometimes things are relative.” Martin said. He was too annoyed with Jon’s stunt to entertain her questions - they hadn’t tested how long his tether in the tunnels was. “And sometimes people take stupid risks for information. Now we need to be quiet or the worms might hear us.”

That wasn’t true, actually, as Jon felt fit to inform him as they walked. The worms didn’t have ears, apparently. However, they could quite literally smell fear.

At this point in time, Martin could smell fear too. It smelled dank and rotting and like overly sweet canned peaches. That last bit might just be his brain filling in what it associates with the other smells, though.

(He still couldn’t stand the smell of peaches without gagging.)

Then he heard the squirming for himself. He stopped, and the sound continued. Eventually he risked a whisper, “Do you hear that too?” he asked.

Everyone behind him nodded.

_ They’re coming in fast. _ Jon said, the static once again mildly panicked.

“Form a chain,” Martin said, reaching back and grabbing Tim by the arm. Once he had visually confirmed they were all holding hands, he started to run.

He ran until the sounds of the worms had faded, and then a little bit longer to take the long way back to the trapdoor. He decided to give the huffing and puffing group behind him a but of a break, and stood against a wall.

“Catch your breath,” He said, “But don’t take too long. I’d like to be in the Archives before he catches up with us again.”

“How are you so good at this?” Melanie demanded. She wasn’t out of shape, but she was certainly huffing. Past-Martin looked like he was suffering.

“I’ve spent a long time down here,” Martin said, “Not all of it pursued by worms, but some of it. And, after a few years of having some big bad hunt you down every couple months, you get good at running.”

He leaned against the wall to catch his breath himself, tapping a pattern on the stone to try and calm himself. The wall started to vibrate, and he could hear a faint shuffling. He was ready to write it off as another idiosyncrasy of this place, but Jon spoke. 

_ Leitner’s just around the corner, _ Jon said in a moment of silence.  _ He’s trying to sneak away without you noticing. He’s got the Seven Lamps. _

“You guys talk for a moment,” Martin said, trying to sound casual, but the walls were definitely closing in on them. Literally, Leitner had probably decided to just crush them outright.

“Is it just me, or are the walls closing in?” Past-Martin asked, completely ruining any surprise Martin may have had.

Martin shushed him, and jumped around the corner to grab Leitner. He missed on his first grab, but caught on the second one, tackling Leitner to the ground. For a moment he was concerned about breaking the old man, then decided that would actually be a happy accident.

The tackle also had the side effect of getting Leitner to stop reading, though, which was a benefit. The walls stopped rumbling and entered an unsteady calm.

“Hey, what the hell?” Tim asked, which was a fair enough question.

“This is one of the other sorry souls living down here with me,” Martin said, “Now. Drop the book.”

“Book? What book?” Leitner played the fool. It didn’t really help him that everyone had heard papers rustling during the kerfuffle.

“The  _ Seven Lamps of Architecture. _ ” Martin said, “I need it.”

“No, I need it.” Leitner said.

“Yeah, I don’t care,” Martin said, shifting to stand and bringing Leitner with him. The old man was at least smart enough not to try to struggle too hard.

“I- I can help you,” Leitner changed his tactics. “I have information about the Entities, I was working with Gertrude, I can help you-”

“I’m not interested in your help,” Martin said. “The most helpful you can be is to give me the book and then leave. Or, you can continue to resist and I’ll leave you to the Flesh Hive. You’ve caused enough problems for me that I would do it.”

Leitner released his grip on the  _ Seven Lamps _ , nudged it a few feet down the hall with his foot.

“Me and Gertrude, we thought we had a way to stop it, what he’s planning, he’s not what you think-”

“I know, and I know exactly what you’re talking about.” Martin said, “It may have even worked, if she hadn’t eaten lead. But I have my own plan, and I’m kinda stressed right now, so you might wanna stop talking.” then he turned to the six people watching him in horror.

“Can one of you grab that book? Don’t read it, though, it’s haunted.”

“Okay,” Sasha recovered the quickest, and took the book in her arms. Martin still planned on retrieving it as soon as he didn’t have an armload of Leitner, as the Archival crew hadn’t shown the best discretion in not reading haunted things in the past.

Martin looked down at Leitner. He did want to rough him up a bit more, but, as Jon in his ear reminded him, they did have somewhat of a time-limit as imposed by Hodge behind them. “And _A_ _Disappearance._ ” he decided.

“What? No, I need that one, he’ll kill me-”

“And he’d have to get in line, honestly. A lot of people want you dead.” Martin said, “I’m being generous. You tried to crush my friends, I’m only taking your book, okay?”

Leitner realized he wasn’t winning this one, and passed the pamphlet over without a word.

“Thank you.” Martin crumpled it into his pocket. Leitner looked like he wanted to object, then he just ran away instead. “I’ll take that now, thanks Sasha.” he felt much more comfortable once he had the book in hand.

“Uh, who was that?” Georgie asked.

“Jurgen Leitner.” Martin answered, and started walking to the Archives. Everyone else started following as well, but not at all silently.

“As in the library?” Tim asked.

“The very same,” Martin nodded, “Georgie, Melanie, he was a collector of haunted books, until his library burned down and all his books escaped. He put his name in all the books, so he kinda has a reputation.”

“And you just let him go?” Jon asked. Just as Martin had assumed, no one would have objected to him actually beating Leitner up. Well, maybe Georgie and Melaine, but he didn’t think they would have stopped him.

“Oh, I wanted to rough him up a bit, but we’ve got a bit of a time limit.” Martin gestured around, “But without the  _ Disappearance _ , he’s bound to get found by one of his enemies eventually.”

“What are the books for?” Sasha asked.

Martin held up the  _ Seven Lamps _ , “If you read this one too long, it crushes you alive. But, if you know what you’re doing, you can use it to shift the tunnels. He was trying to crush us, earlier.”

“Prick,” Melanie muttered.

Martin held up the  _ Disappearance _ , now more than a little crinkled, “If you read this one too long, you’ll disappear from existence. Just a few words, and it hides you from prying Eyes.”

_ In the most frustrating way possible. _ Jon commented.

“I know, I’ve heard.” Martin said. “Now, it should be a pretty straight shot to the Archives from here, especially now that I’ve got this.” he held up the book.

He started reading, and the tunnels started shifting. It wasn’t hard actually.

“How do you know to do that?” Sasha asked.

“I just do,” Martin said.

“Does it come with instructions?”

“Shush, I’m reading.” Martin tried to ignore how much he sounded like Peter with that line.

They were able to travel to the trapdoor in a straight shot, not coming past anymore worms. Martin led them to the main office, and started rooting around in his storage cabinet. “We’re safe for now,” He said, “Feel free to chat a little bit.”

“How do you know so much?” Georgie asked.

“Beyond the time travel bit?” Martin said. Georgie nodded, so he answered, “This place is, like, a temple to an Eye god of knowing everyone’s secrets. It comes with some benefits. That said, that explanation was too simple. I think there’s a monster manual around here somewhere that I can lend you for a bit. Later, though.”

“Damn, Jon, you went and joined a cult. Always thought I would be the one.” Georgie said.

“Well, it wasn’t on purpose.” Jon defended himself. It was almost jarring not to hear static paired with that tone of voice.

“Alright, put these on,” Martin started passing out the denim trousers to everyone who did or potentially could work in the Archives, also known as, everyone but Georgie. She gave him a nervous look. “Yeah, just don’t let the worms get on you, they will burrow into your skin.” Martin advised her. The others started splitting off behind rooms with doors to change.

“They do that?” she asked.

“Yep,” Martin nodded, “And I have it on good authority that it hurts a lot.”

_ You plunged a corkscrew into my leg! I’m allowed to complain about that a bit! It hurt! _

“I wasn’t saying it didn’t hurt, I was saying you made very sure we all knew how much it hurt.” Georgie was giving him a look.

“Who are you talking to?” she asked.

Martin shrugged. Jon still didn’t want to be known to the past-folks. “No one in particular.” he said.

“No, that was definitely a conversation,” Georgie said, “You’ve been having conversations. What’s with the headphones?”

Martin stared at her for a moment. “Help me dig out some CO2 canisters while everyone’s getting changed.” He led her to one of the offices, where all the empty boxes had been filled with canisters.

“I don’t really want to talk about it,” Martin said, in regards to all her questions earlier. “It’s still fairly recent, okay? But I promise I’m not crazy.”

“That’s never a sentence that proves itself wrong.”

“Okay, fair,” Martin said, “I’m not hearing voices because I’m crazy.”

_ Well, I mean… _

“Oh, not you too.”

Georgie had something to say about that exchange, but Martin was saved by a loud crash from the other side of the Archives.

He went back into the main room, and everyone was accounted for except for Jon. The Head Archivist office door was still shut. Everyone else was looking there, so that was probably where the sound came from.

Tim responded first, sauntering up to the door, “What did you do in there?” he asked.

“Shut up, Tim.” Jon said. “Open the door and help me.”

Jon looked a pathetic sight, sitting on the floor and just barely holding up the bookshelf. He was, thankfully, fully dressed.

Then, Martin heard a crackling sound. He looked, and saw Jon was pushing most of the shelf’s weight into the wall, and the thin layer of plasterboard covering the entrance to the tunnels was starting to cave.

_ That was where Prentiss came through last time… _ Jon said, just as the plaster began to give and the sound of squirming worms became imminently obvious.

“Run.” Martin said. Then, when no one seemed to get the point, he yelled, “Run! To Document Storage, run!” he stumbled back a few steps, pushing Jon out the door in front of him as the deluge of worms flowed through.

Tim and Sasha had grabbed Melanie and Georgie, which was probably for the best. Document Storage really wasn’t that long of a run, but they only had a few extinguishers in there. Not enough for Georgie and Melanie, too.

As he doubled back to grab a few more CO2 canisters, he bumped into a table and his headphones got ripped out, both at his ears and the tape recorder, and they fell to the floor with a clatter. Martin didn’t have time to recover them, and he got into Document Storage with worms nipping at his heels.

Everyone was panting and panicking, but Martin just turned around to make sure the door was properly sealed. His heart would stop trying to choke him out eventually, probably.

“Is everyone okay?” he asked, “No worms, no injuries?”

Everyone chorused that they were fine, amid a cacophony of panting and panicking. And yet, it was so quiet. Why was it so quiet?

There was no static. It probably took him longer than it should have to realize it, but that was it. There was no static in his ears and the silence was deafening.

“Are you okay?” He asked, trying to get an answer without exposing Jon, but he was starting to panic. “This isn’t funny.” even without his headphones, he should still hear the static. There was no way Jon would just abandon him like this.

“We’re all fine?” Sasha said.

“Jon! Answer me already,” Martin took out the tape recorder, heart pounding faster than it had before.

The tape deck was empty.

“Fuck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, remember that joke about dropping jon yall were laughing about a few chapters ago...
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	11. Tape boi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> just some walking and talking, a little murder on the side maybe
> 
> Don't you know it's rude to listen to music without headphones on...

Sasha could only be glad that Blackwood seemed well prepared for this encounter, because she was at a loss for what to do besides run, and this Flesh Hive seemed like more of an endurance hunter.

The old man in the tunnels was unusual, but on the list of things that she had witnessed that day, it was pretty low. Hiding in a storage closet with six other people ranked high on her list of unpleasant things she had done, but not necessarily weird. Blackwood, staring at an empty tape recorder, was one of the weirder things. He was starting to cry a bit, so that made it uncomfortable too.

Blackwood still stared at the open tape deck, jaw slack.

“It must’ve ejected when you hit the table.” Georgie offered.

Blackwood’s head shot up at that, then he was out the room and running through the door. Tim kept it open a small crack to watch him run. He had to stomp at the few worms that tried to make their way in.

“That’s not what I meant!” Georgie shouted after him.

He came sprinting back in just a few moments later, worms nipping at his heels as he all but tripped over himself to get back inside.

“What was that all about?” several people demanded, but Blackwood just ignored them in favor of shoving the tape back into the recorder.

And then, without Blackwood doing anything, the tape began to spin.

“That’s unusual.” Jon said.

“I’m sorry, sorry, sorry,” Blackwood said, stuttering over himself and crying a little bit. He sat down along the wall, curling in on himself and holding the tape close to his chest as he cried a bit.

Static crackled through the speakers, almost indecisively, before a voice came through.

“ _ It’s alright, it’s alright, I’m fine. _ ” said… that sounded a lot like Jon, just with some static layered over top of his voice. “ _ They couldn’t really hurt me, just wiggled on top of me. Not too terribly unpleasant.” _

That sounded like an understatement at the very least, but the highest thought Sasha could manage was: what?

“But you’d be on the ground and covered in worms,” Blackwood said, which was true, “And then when the ECDC comes in you’d be scooped up with everything else and incinerated just like all those tapes.” he was crying and frantic.

“ _ That’s not what happened to those tapes, remember?”  _ the tape said,  _ “But I can see now might not be the time for that.” _ Jon? Being sensitive about context and other people’s feelings? Suspicious.

He was right, though, Sasha had seen Martin get into these thought spirals before, usually in a gay panic at her place. No matter what logic said, he was always going to come up with a way that everything was going to end horribly

The tape hesitated for a moment, before asking, “ _ How are your fingers? _ ”

Blackwood pulled his head out of his arms, and displayed fingers riddled with shallow gouges where worms had nibbled but not borrowed. “Fine, I suppose,” he said between hiccups as he turned his hand around. His palms were worse. “No worms burrowing,”

“ _ Those look like they’ll get a nasty infection,”  _ the tape said, “ _ Georgie, there should be a first aid kit behind your knee? Can you help out?” _

“I- sure,” she grabbed the big red box and sat next to Blackwood, pouring disinfectant and helping bandage his wounds. He was still faintly crying, unable to control it, but at least it was slowing down. It was the cry of something scary that had passed, but the panic and adrenaline still lingered.

Georgie went back to her corner when she was done. It was mildly uncomfortable, being so close to the tape. It felt more alive, now, she could feel the physical texture of the static across her skin.

After a few minutes, the tape spoke again, “ _ That makes how many times now you’ve abandoned me to the worms? _ ” that was a tone Sasha hadn’t heard much, but it sounded like Jon was joking.

“Shut up, I’m still panicking.” Blackwood said, hugging the tape recorder tight. The reel of the tape was just about the loudest thing in the world. No one else spoke as they all glanced between the tape and each other, as if asking if everyone else saw that too.

A few moments later, and after Blackwood stopped hiccupping on every breath, the tape spoke again, “ _ I think I still prefer this to the time you dropped me in a Tesco? _ ”

Blackwood laughed and leaned back, scrubbing at his face. He sighed and looked at everyone. “Okay, we can sit here and relax for a few minutes.” he said, “I’m sure you have questions, go ahead.”

“What the hell?” Tim asked, which was more eloquent than Sasha would be.

“ _ Hm, okay,” _ The tape said, “ _ Well, Martin’s whole ‘last one left’ thing was in a pretty symbolic way. I’m here too.” _

“What- Jon?” Georgie asked.

“ _ Yep, it’s me.” _ the tape said, “ _ Well, kinda. Mostly.” _

“Yes, it’s you.” Blackwood sighed, he scrubbed at his face, and seemed to sense just how red it was. “We’re not having this identity crisis now. And yes, before you ask, it is him I’ve been talking to, not myself. I’m not that crazy.”

“So, is it like a magic tape that lets you talk through time?” Georgie asked.

“If only the spooky magic were that helpful.” Blackwood scoffed.

“ _ No. _ ” tape-Jon said, “ _ I am the tape. _ ”

“How does that work?” Melanie asked.

“ _ The logistics of me going from normal person to a literal tape recorder are kinda convoluted, so probably not a good conversation topic for while we’re literally being pursued by worms.” _ Tape-Jon said, “ _ Just to clear this up at front though: I am not trapped and I don’t need saving. Other than, well, the obvious immediate situation. Though, I am in a considerably better situation than the rest of you.” _

“You’re rambling a bit,'' Blackwood laughed, taking a few breaths. He was still calming down from his earlier panic.

_“It’s been a while since I’ve spoken to normal people, thank you very much,”_ Sasha wasn’t one to assign emotions to inanimate objects, but the static sounded downright indignant. “ _Oh, and while I’m at it, Tim, there are some towels above your head. Shove them under the door. There shouldn’t be enough of a gap for the worms to get in, but better safe than sorry.”_

“I- okay?” Tim reached up and did as he said.

“Are the worms getting antsy?” Blackwood asked, getting up like he was preparing to pace.

_ “A bit.” _ tape-Jon said, “ _ The original plan was to make a mad-dash to the control room and set off the fire suppression system manually, but that’s out now. I heard someone had a plan B that I didn’t know about, though?” _

“Okay, okay,” Blackwood said, “It’s a work in progress, emphasis on in progress, but we could probably use this?” he held up the book he’d stolen from Leitner. “Bait the Flesh Hives out, lock them in rooms?”

“ _ Wait until they’re able to rot their way through solid stone?” _

“Can they?”

_ “I don’t know. The tunnels are weird. Maybe? Tim said he found a weird bit of rot last time.” _

“Why are you poo-pooing on all my ideas when you’re not even sure?”

“God you two are such a married couple,” Georgie complained, “Will it fix our immediate worm problem or not?”

Martin and Jon (the fully-human ones) did not look at each other. And they definitely didn’t blush. (That was probably just Georgie making a joke about the argument, though, right?)

(Everyone had figured it out except Jon and Martin, who were willfully ignorant.)

Tape-Jon crackled for a few moments. Then he spoke, “ _ It would work well enough as a temporary solution. If we need anything more permanent, we can just go fix it up later.” _

“Okay, so like seven and a half of us and two of them?” Sasha asked, “Split into groups of three?”

“No, what’s wrong with you?” and variations thereof were said by everyone else present. Sasha leaned back against the wall, mortified and a little annoyed.

“And the first to die in a horror show goes to…” Melanie muttered under her breath, to the laughter of Georgie and aborted chuckle from Blackwood.

“Yeah, no,” Blackwood said, “We’re all going to travel together and take them out one at a time. In my experience, splitting up has never once ended well.”

“And how are we going to bait them?” Tim asked, “In case you haven’t noticed, we’re trapped in here.”

“Not really,” Blackwood said, then scanned the walls. He tapped a finger to his chin, visibly thinking. “Where was it?”

“ _ There _ .”

“Oh, so helpful.”

“ _ What do you want me to do, point? _ ”

“No, I remember where it was,” Blackwood shooed Jon and Martin out of the way. Then he grabbed a fire extinguisher and started absolutely beating the shit out of the wall.

“You alright there?” Melanie asked.

“There’s another tunnel entrance, right here,” Blackwood said, “If Tim was able to break this wall down high off his ass, I can do it sober.”

And then, just like that, the wall gave way to yet more stone tunnels. It began branching and spreading as far as the eye could see - which, thinking about it, was actually a shorter range than they should have been able to see.

“There, see?” Blackwood took a few steps back, “We’re not trapped. Again, buddy system and stay where you can see me. Hold hands with your buddy, do not get separated. Especially if a bunch of worms start coming at you.”

“Is there a story there?” Georgie asked.

“ _ Martin left me to get eaten by worms,” _

“I did not leave you to get eaten,” Blackwood said, “It’s not my fault you’re a slow runner.”

“ _ You had just stabbed me with a corkscrew!” _

“To help you, you jerk. Besides, that sounds like you’re complaining just to complain.” that exchange only created more questions, and Blackwood sighed, “Look, just get in the tunnels, okay?”

He lingered at the door, counting heads like he was a primary teacher. It probably was for the best, Sasha thought. And it was probably a good idea to hold hands in the tunnels, too. She did not want to imagine the horrors she would find down here. Tim, to lighten the mood, swung their joined hands far more than necessary.

“Everyone good?” Blackwood asked.

“ _ I’m fine,” _ Tape-Jon said, though his voice did sound a little strained. “ _ You don’t have to ask every time.” _

“But I like to,” Blackwood said, “And the questions for everyone else, too.” he looked at them accusingly.

“We’re alright,” Sasha said, not quite sure what she was in the middle of now. “Thanks,” the tunnels were much like the other times she’d been down there, but now there were white-painted numbers and letters labelling the intersections.

“Why do you need to ask?” Tim asked, holding Sasha with one hand and tapping the wall with the other. He pulled back his hand and shook it, holding it away from himself like it was now soiled.

“ _ Going into the tunnels is mildly uncomfortable for me. _ ” Tape-Jon said, “ _ A bit like wearing trousers that are a bit too tight.” _

“Hm.” Tim apparently got over whatever was clinging to his hand and went back to tap-tapping the walls. “No offense, but tight trousers seem more my wheelhouse.”

“ _ I wholly agree.” _

Melanie whistled at the number of cobwebs hanging in the corners. “Looks like you’ve got a proper haunted house in these parts,” she said, “How many dead bodies do you got hanging around here?”

“ _ Depends on your definition of ‘dead’.” _ Tape-Jon answered.

“Oh good, another ominous one-liner.” Martin said from the back of the crowd, where he was reluctantly (and very red facedly) holding hands with Jon, “Can one of you just answer a question normally?”

“It really does depend on your definition of dead,” Blackwood shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve run into two? Ish? Not recently! There’s no chance of you running into them.”

“ _ Well…” _

“Okay, fine, very little chance. Stay with me and you won’t have to see a dead body.” Blackwood said.

“Are we going to have to fight zombies next?” Georgie demanded.

“ _ Oh, heavens no.” _ Tape-Jon said, “ _ The Flesh Hives are closer to movie zombies than anything else in these tunnels. The corpses in here can’t move, it’s kinda their whole thing.” _

Georgie hummed and looked around more warily. There was another story hiding under there, but Sasha knew now was not the time.

“Say,” Blackwood said after a few more minutes of walking, “Aren’t there considerably more cobwebs than last time?”

Tape-Jon made an audible grimace. “ _ I thought it was just me.” _ he said, “ _ With Annabelle poking around, I’m not really surprised, though.” _

“I wonder - the stapler thing,” Blackwood said, “The other week. Was that on purpose?”

“ _ Probably,” _

“No, you’re avoiding the subject.” Blackwood said, snapping and turning to his right like he was talking to someone. (Behind them, Jon was standing on the right of Martin. This didn’t escape anyone’s notice.) “That definitely means I’m onto something. Say, where was that spider?” he turned his head to the back of the crowd, looked right at Jon.

“Uh, the wall?” he said. Then, like he just figured it out, “The same place where the wall broke to bring us here.”

“I was right!” Blackwood crowed, “She was trying to trigger the Prentiss Experience. Distract me and get him to break the wall!”

“ _ Why though?” _ Tape-Jon muttered, “ _ So that Prentiss wouldn’t have as much time to prepare? Or so that we wouldn’t figure out about Timothy Hodge and allow him to roam unchecked a while longer?” _

“I think we would’ve found Hodge one way or another,” Blackwood said, and turned to Melanie, “You said you found him in a restaurant? The Hungarian place?”

“How did you know that?” Melanie glared.

“ _ You mentioned a restaurant on the phone,” _ Tape-Jon said, “ _ And the park was near the Hungarian place Georgie likes. _ ”

“You remembered that?”

“ _ Not really,” _ Tape-Jon said, sounding like a shrug, “ _ I just Knew. I don’t really have a choice about it now.” _

“That sounds awful,” Georgie said, “Everything?”

_ “Not all at once, anymore. _ ” he said, “ _ I’m pretty used to it now. Used to give me killer headaches but, well, I don’t exactly have a head anymore.” _

“So, you’re just wholesale a tape?” Melanie asked.

“ _ Yes and no,” _ Tape-Jon said, “ _ It’s more like I’m tied to the tape. Like an anchor. Out of the tunnels there’s not really a limit to how far I can go, but down here I’m pretty stuck to the tape recorder itself. And I can’t communicate or do anything unless the tape is running.” _

“So if I hit pause on the recorder?”

“ _ Tired of me that quickly?” _ Tape-Jon laughed to make sure everyone knew it was a joke, “ _ I could turn it back on, so long as my tape’s in the tape deck. _ ”

“So you’re a ghost,” Georgie said.

Tape-Jon hmmed for a second, “ _ Somewhere between a ghost and a god, sure.” _

“Oh, christ,” Blackwood said, “Stop it, stop it, you’re going to give him a huge ego.”

“Wait, that’s how you knew so much!” Sasha said, pointing at Blackwood. “You were having him spy on us!”

“Spy is such a strong word,” Blackwood said, “And we actively avoided it, actually,”

“ _ Mostly.” _

“Mostly.”

“ _ I kinda have to keep an eye on Martin’s stuff when he goes to the bathroom, Sasha.” _

“Why me?” she asked, “Everyone did it!”

“ _ You did it five times.”  _ Tape-Jon said. She could only nod to that. It was true. “ _ And other than that, most spying is unintentional. Closed doors aren’t really a hindrance to me anymore.” _

Sasha nodded as she took that in. She thought of all the conversations they'd had behind closed doors, then actively decided not to be embarrassed. 

“That was you, wasn’t it?” Martin asked, “With all the tapes on that first day?”

“ _ Oh yeah, the Hill Top House statements.”  _ Tape-Jon said, “ _ Not really me specifically, but also yeah. I can manifest other tape recorders wherever I want, so long as nobody sees it appear.” _

“So could you manifest one right now?” Tim asked.

“ _ I literally just said I can’t do it if other people are there to see,”  _ Tape-Jon sighed. _ “And, no, I can’t do it in the tunnels. But I can do it above ground.” _

“It’s like quantum, schrodinger’s cat stuff,” Blackwood explained, “The whole ‘is the cat dead or not thing’, you don’t know until it’s observed. That’s kinda the deal with the tapes and the statements.”

“The statements?” Sasha asked.

“ _ I can move the statements around,”  _ Tape-Jon said, “ _ I use it to hide a lot of the more dangerous statements. I can only move the true ones, though.” _

Sasha nodded along. That made a lot of things make a lot more sense. Then she noticed the number on the wall.

“We’ve passed this intersection before,” she said, pointing it out, “Number seventy-six.”

“Oh yeah, we’re just kinda wandering.” Blackwood said, “I don’t have any specific destination in mind.”

“ _ We want to bait out Hodge _ ,” Tape-Jon added, “ _ So we’re just walking and talking. He’ll find us eventually. _ ”

“What, you don’t just ‘know’ where he is?” Melanie asked, “Seems like that would be useful right about now.”

“ _ The Powers are anything but helpful,” _ Tape-Jon sighed, a long gust of static. “ _ And I have a very vague idea about where he is. The tunnels are a bit of a blind spot for me, I can’t see them at all when I’m above ground and when I’m in the tunnels it feels a bit like I’ve been shoved in a box. So, can’t really See much. Sorry.” _

“You had one job,” Tim joked from the back, trying to break the icy atmosphere that had been gradually creeping in. it was better to keep the conversation warm and friendly. And to keep Tape-Jon from monologuing too long, the longer he spoke the more depressing it got.

“ _ Sorry, sorry,” _ Tape-Jon laughed along, but let it die soon.

“Do you have any proof?” Jon asked from the back of the group, “That you’re real?”

“ _ Would you accept any proof I offered, or would you just deny it all? _ ” Tape-Jon asked, “ _ If you’ve already made up your mind, nothing I say can change it.” _

“A yes or no would have sufficed.”

“ _ Not really. I know you.” _ Tape-Jon said. He sounded fondly annoyed.

“You cannot be complaining about someone being stubborn,” said Blackwood.

“ _ I’m not! I’m just acknowledging it.” _ Tape-Jon decided to change the subject, then, “ _ So, yeah, the short version of all this is if you catch yourself thinking ‘oh, that would be convenient’ then it’s not a thing that can happen.” _

“Or if it does,” Blackwood said, “It usually comes with some downside. Sometimes it’s worth it, sometimes not.”

There was a lull in the conversation.

“Let’s play a game,” Melanie said, “I spy-”

“What, exactly?” Jon asked, “We’re in a bunch of tunnels. There’s nothing to see.”

“I was going to say bricks.” Melanie said. She crossed her arms and looked away.

“I see what you meant,” Sasha said, “About only stabbing him once being an achievement.”

“I know, right?” Blackwood asked.

“ _ It was only going to get worse after that, _ ” Tape-Jon protested. “ _ I wasn’t that out of line,” _

“You were just lucky you were too busy being kidnapped to be around much during the lead up to the Unknowing,” Blackwood said, “She would have stabbed you so much.”

“I was stabbing people?” Melanie asked. She didn’t sound happy about it - one of those things that was only good in theory, then.

“Yes and no?” Blackwood said, because straight answers were for the weak. “If it’s any consolation, a cursed artefact made you do it? And, it sounds bad, but you were really helpful when the Flesh monsters attacked.”

“Flesh monsters?”

“Disgusting.” Blackwood scrunched his face and shook his head. Anything with the moniker ‘Flesh monster’ probably was pretty bad.

“The Unknowing?” Sasha asked.

“One of the rituals, occult ceremony-things,” Blackwood said, “for all these Entities. They want to end the world really bad, and the Unknowing was one group’s try at ending the world. It didn’t work out, though.”

“Do we have to worry about that?” Tim asked.

“Not for another year or so,” Blackwood said, “And we’ll probably take care of it ourselves. We might come up with a few things you all can do if you want to help, though.” he gestured vaguely between himself and the air, probably to represent his incorporeal partner.

“I’m a bit more concerned about the ‘too busy being kidnapped’ bit?” Jon asked.

“Yeah,” Blackwood shrugged, though he looked a bit uncomfortable. “ _Someone_ managed to get himself kidnapped like three times in so many months.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. Poor situational awareness? Recklessness?”

“ _ Little bit of A, little bit of B? _ ” Tape-Jon suggested. “ _ Crazy hunters deciding I was on their hit list?” _

“It was a fun time.” Blackwood concluded.

“ _ Yes, yes, I was kidnapped quite a bit. Let’s focus on this apocalypse for now, though,” _ Tape-Jon said, “ _ There are a lot of worms around that corner, number eighty-eight. I don’t know if Hodge is there, too, or if they’re just vibing.” _

“Just vibing?” Georgie asked, “Seriously?”

“ _ Well, they’re not really moving much.” _ Tape-Jon said, “ _ Just kinda wiggling. Y’know, like worms.” _

“So, how are we going to tell?” Tim asked, “Because I really don’t want to go face to face with that guy again.”

“Throw the tape around the corner?” Sasha suggested. Then, when everyone gave her a Look, “What? You just said he can teleport!”

“ _ I can teleport  _ **_other tapes_ ** .” he clarified, “ _ The master tape is stuck wherever it is.” _

“Okay, I didn’t know that.” Sasha said, “So throwing would be a bad idea, then.”

“Yes, it would.” Blackwood agreed. “I’ll just peek around the corner. Georgie, come back me up with the extinguisher?”

She shrugged, “Alright,” and pushed to the front with her extinguisher.

Blackwood looked around the corner for a split second. “Yep, he’s in there.”

“Okay, so what now?” Georgie asked.

“I’ll just squish him.” Blackwood flipped the book open to a random page. “Let me know if he starts moving, alright?”

Then, with a groan, the walls started to shift. Nothing happened out in the hall where they stood, save for some dust falling from the ceiling. The corridor around the corner, though, seemed to just disappear. The walls kept rumbling for a long time, before eventually stopping.

“I don’t know,” Blackwood said. “I was going to try and just crush him, but the walls won’t let me. There’s some sort of resistance.”

“ _ It’s probably like the coffin,” _ Tape-Jon suggested, “ _ No good in letting someone die when they can just be scared.” _

“We can just leave it,” Georgie said, “Come back later.”

“I suppose.” Blackwood said, “But on our way over here I managed to talk myself out of it.”

“ _ Of course you did.” _ Tape-Jon sounded downright fond.

“Do you think we have enough gas to just flood his little box?”

Tape-Jon hummed for a moment. “ _ Probably, if we keep on like this. I think Prentiss is still in the Archives, though, so we may need a little bit more to handle that.” _

Blackwood nodded. “I think we can do it.”

He flipped the book open again, and read a few words. Then he shut it again with a snap. Around the corner, there was now a little hole in the new wall, just big enough to fit the nozzle of a gas canister.

Blackwood turned to all of them, “Just a warning, this is going to make a terrible sound.”

It didn’t make a terrible sound, at least not at first. It was just the gentle hissing of gas leaving the canister. Then the gas reached critical mass in the little room, and all the worms shrieked in harmony.

Everyone staggered back as Blackwood kept spraying until the screams tapered off. He tossed the now empty canister to the side.

“There,” he said, “Now we don’t have to worry about Hodge anymore.”

“What was that?” Sasha hesitantly pulled her hands down from her ears.

“The worms scream when they die.” Blackwood shrugged, “At least you had warning this time. My ears were ringing for like half an hour.”

“I think my ears will be ringing for a half hour, christ.” Melanie mumbled, pulling her hands away from her ears as if checking for blood. She didn’t find any, of course, but she still winced and shook her head.

“ _ One down, one to go.” _ Tape-Jon said, “ _ Let’s head back to the Archives?” _

“Yep,” Blackwood took the book back out and started reading. The walls around them shifted until there was one obvious way forward. Blackwood shut the book with a snap. “I’m actually starting to really enjoy that.”

“ _ Hm. Probably not great. We don’t really have much choice, for now.” _

“Yeah.” Blackwood shrugged, “I can still stand to get rid of it, so not that bad. C’mon, let’s get walking.” he waved them on, and they continued their trek.

“Why would that be a bad thing?” Georgie asked.

“A lot of these supernatural things become addicting over time,” Blackwood explained, “And that addiction quickly turns into an actual physical dependence. It’s best to interact as little as possible.”

“Which is why you didn’t want us reading statements.” Jon concluded.

“Yes, which I told you right from the start.” Blackwood cast an accusing glance over his shoulder. “And then you ignored me. I hope you understand now?”

Jon looked away, but Sasha nodded. Blackwood took that as good enough, and kept walking.

“That’s… from experience?” Melanie asked.

“ _ Yeah.” _ Tape-Jon said, “ _ It was really unpleasant.” _

“I have enough ‘insulation’ that just using the book for tonight shouldn’t be a problem.” Blackwood said, “I’m enjoying it, but not that much.”

“Insulation?” Martin asked, “What does that mean?”

“Being affiliated for one entity makes it harder to be claimed by another,” Blackwood said, “Not impossible, but you have to make a more conscious choice to actively abandon your old entity. And, of course, after a certain point it’s impossible to change at all.”

“So working in the Archives gives a type of protection?” Sasha asked.

“Among other things,” Blackwood looked a little nervous at that one. “Not exactly pleasant. We’re here.” he pointed upwards, and the trapdoor was right there.

“ _ Yep,” _ Tape-Jon made a grossed-out noise, “ _ I can hear them squirming. Gross.” _

“That’s the point.”

“ _ Doesn’t mean I have to like it. _ ”

“Your constant muttering makes so much more sense, now.” Tim said, “Why did you wait this long to say something?” he was stalling, but that was okay.

“ _ We didn’t want to scare you off?” _

“You were having a tough enough time dealing with me coming back,” Blackwood said, “We didn’t want to add the whole, ‘oh yeah, and a kinda-sorta sentient-slash-possesed tape recorder’ thing into the mix.”

“So you decided to just act crazy?” Martin asked.

Blackwood shrugged, “I didn’t care. I didn’t go through all this not to talk to him, you could think what you wanted.”

Martin looked like he didn’t understand that. Fair enough.

“Now, if we’re done stalling, let’s try and get the jump on Jane.” Blackwood pushed up the trapdoor, then slowly climbed out. Everyone followed as he stalked around the room, to find Jane in the corner, oozing over boxes of statements.

Almost like they’d practiced, everyone pulled the pins on their canisters and sprayed the Flesh Hive. She turned around in shock, and some worms started streaming out, but it was too late for her. Soon she was also screaming and dying.

“That felt way too easy,” Tim said.

“Yeah,” Martin agreed, “Where are all the worms?”

“ _ They’re in the main office,” _ said Tape-Jon, “ _ with- shit.” _

“With what?” Blackwood frowned.

“ _ Daisy and Basira. _ ” Tim and Sasha shared a look. They didn’t know who those were, although Blackwood certainly did from the way he groaned.

“Of course they are.”

“ _ Elias called in a tip.” _

“Of course he did.”

“ _ Incoming.” _

That was all the warning they had before two police women came into the room, guns drawn and pointed at the floor.

“What just happened here?” the one in the hijab asked, looking between them and the pile of Flesh Hive on the floor.

“The Flesh Hive,” Blackwood pointed on the floor, “It screams when it’s killed.”

“You killed that?” the big beast of a woman asked. “How?”

Blackwood held up the canister. “CO2. They don’t like it.”

“You suffocated it?” the first one asked. “Seems a bit harsh.”

“The worms eat people.” Blackwood said. “I don’t think it’s harsh at all.”

“Are you sure it’s dead?” the big one asked.

“Yeah,” Blackwood said, “I’ve dealt with these before. Not pleasant, but they do have the decency to stay down once they’re down.”

She huffed, then held out a hand. “Daisy Tonner.”

“Pleasure.” Blackwood took it. He did not introduce himself.

“I’m Basira Hussain.” the first one introduced, “Mr. Bouchard called us, said there was a break-in?” 

“Yeah, these things,” Blackwood nudged the worms with his foot, “We were here because Sash forgot her keys in the office. We were all out for lunch, and it wasn’t that far out of our way.”

“Lucky you didn’t get hurt, then,” Daisy said.

“Yeah, we were prepared. We’ve been hearing about these things for months. We’re no strangers to the Weird stuff.” Blackwood shrugged, “We’ve got it all covered, though. Do we need to call someone for the cleanup?”

Basira looked around. “Probably best to call the ECDC. I can handle that. Anything else?”

“ _ What about the bodies in the tunnels-” _

“The what?” Daisy asked.

Blackwood’s back stiffened, his easy smile frozen. “There’s a bunch of tunnels under the Institute. There’s another one of those  _ things _ down there too.”

Daisy frowned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I think I'm just allergic to serious chapter titles at this point)  
> And here we are! The (almost) end of the worm arc! lemme tell you, when I figured out the way to transition from the worm arc to the cop arc I just about woke people up laughing...  
> Hope yall enjoyed!


	12. Lying to the Police

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daisy and Basira in the Archives, what crimes will they commit

Martin frowned as Jane went down, despite everyone around him sighing in relief. He watched her go to the ground, waiting for any motion, any sound, anything to let him know he wasn’t just paranoid and that there really was something wrong.

Luckily, he wasn’t the only one to think so. “That felt way too easy.” said Tim.

“Yeah,” past-Martin agreed, “Where are all the worms?” that was it, the worms. Whereas the Flesh Hive usually had hundreds, thousands of worms squirming in and around it, Jane probably only had two hundred max.

(What a place in his life where there were  _ only  _ two hundred worms.)

“ _ They’re in the main office,” _ Jon piped up from the tape, and it was really weird to hear him in the room rather than in the headphones. “ _ With - shit.” _

That’s concerning, “With what?”

“ _ Daisy and Basira.” _

Martin groaned. Of course Daisy and Basira were here. It almost looked like they were going to get out of this okay. Of course there had to be another wrench thrown in the works. “Of course they are.” he said.

“ _ Elias called in a tip.” _

“Of course he did.” it made sense, Elias wielded the police like they were a weapon, called them up like he was ordering a pizza. When it started looking like past-Jon might escape all this unmarked, he called in his backup.

“ _ Incoming,” _ Jon warned, and Martin could hear hesitant footsteps coming down the hall.

Daisy came in first, closely followed by Basira. Both of them had their weapons out, muzzles pointed at the floor as they walked in. They scanned the room, and Martin could’ve sworn Daisy’s eyes flashed when she saw him.

That probably wasn’t a good thing.

“What just happened here?” Basira asked when she noticed the heap of dead Flesh Hive on the floor.

“The Flesh Hive,” Martin pointed to it, as if he could be talking about anything else, “It screams when it’s killed.”

“You killed that?” Daisy didn’t look convinced. “How?”

“CO2. They don’t like it.” he held up the canister for her to get a look at herself. It was light, practically empty.

“You suffocated it?” Basira asked, “Seems a bit harsh.”

She must have just gotten here, then, if she thought suffocating the Flesh Hive was ‘a bit harsh’.

“The worms eat people,” Martin decided to inform her, “I don’t think it’s harsh at all.”

“Are you sure it’s dead?” Daisy looked at the heap on the floor. There was a hunt in her eyes.

“Yeah. I’ve dealt with these before. Not pleasant, but they do have the decency to stay down once they’re down.”

Daisy looked downright impressed with that answer. She held out her hand and introduced herself.

Martin shook her hand, but didn’t introduce himself. He had no clue how he would, with the whole time travel thing going on. He was just lucky it was too dark and he was too dirty for Daisy to make the connection.

Basira also introduced herself, then continued on to say, “Mr. Bouchard called us, said there was a break in?”

“That would be these things,” Martin nudged the edge of the Flesh Hive with his foot. Luckily, it stayed down. That would not have been a nice way to go. “We were here because Sash forgot her things in the office. We were all out for lunch, and it wasn’t that far out of our way.”

“Lucky you didn’t get hurt, then.” Daisy said, in a neutral enough tone.

“Yeah, we were prepared. We’ve been hearing about these things for months. We’re no strangers to the Weird stuff.” Martin looked around the room, tried to figure out what questions would be normal in this situation. “We’ve got it all covered, though. Or, well, all the worms are dead, at least. Do we need to call someone for the cleanup?”

Basira looked at the many piles of worm flesh and unidentified but fowl goop. “Probably best to call the ECDC. I can handle that. Anything else?”

“ _ What about the bodies in the tunnels-” _ Jon started to ask, and Martin had to bite his lip to keep from cursing out loud. He had forgotten he wasn’t plugged into headphones, hadn’t he. Because he definitely wasn’t talking about Timothy Hodge, but Gertrude.

“The what?” Daisy asked. There was now a feral glint to her eye, something extra and animalistic in the way she was watching him. 

There was also the fact that the voice had been somewhat disembodied, but he hoped the general chaos of the room was enough to hide all that.

“There’s a bunch of tunnels under the Institute.” Martin tried, going for a story that was mostly true. “There’s another one of those  _ things _ down there too.”

Daisy didn’t look convinced, her jaw set in a frown. Martin just inwardly prayed she wouldn’t come after him for that.

“Show me.” she said.

“I-” he stammered. Well, at least if she stuck with him he knew she wasn’t getting into other things. Like Gertrude’s corpse. “Okay, yeah. There’s a trapdoor right over here. Anyone else coming?” he glanced around the room.

“I’ll start making some calls.” Basira said. “And take some statements too, probably.” she looked at everyone else. That’s right, it probably would look weird if he insisted on dragging the whole crew with him to show Daisy where the body was.

He became aware of the sound of a tape spooling, one that wasn’t Jon. He got the message, and took the recorder out of his pocket and left it on a desk.

“Alright,” he said, shaking his hands and hoping no one had caught the motion. “I’ll show you to the tunnels, then?”

“Please.”

“I’m just going to make some calls. You all just… get comfortable.” Basira glanced around the room, clearly she knew what a feat that would be. The other six honestly just looked confused. They all glanced at Martin for confirmation, which was cute but also rather suspicious.

“I’ll be fine down there,” he said, hopefully doing the double-duty of assuring them and providing an excuse for why they all looked so scared.

Martin showed Daisy to the trapdoor, and followed right behind her, painfully aware of how easily she could kill him down here.

“So what do I call you?” she asked as they were walking.

“Blackwood.” he stole the nickname from the past bunch. It really was more convenient.

“What’s the book for?”

“It’s magic,” he said. She rolled her eyes and gave him a look that said she’d like the proper explanation, please and thank you. “It moves the walls. Makes it easier not to get lost.”

“Where did you find that?”

“A haunted artefact?” Martin asked, “The Institute is full of them.”

“Was a bit of a silly question, I suppose.” she sucked her teeth and looked around. Eventually they came to a dead end. “Where from here?” she turned to Martin.

“The body’s just on the other side of this wall,” Martin held up the book, “I wasn’t really afraid of him getting up but, y’know, double tap.”

Daisy nodded, and stared at the wall.

Martin began the trickiest part of the whole tunnel adventure then. While reading he not only opened the tunnel to Hodge, but also closed off the tunnel to Gertrude’s corpse, the Table and the room where he’d been staying. Unfortunately, it was rather loud and took him a while to read that much.

“That took a while,” Daisy noticed and commented.

“It’s a bit complicated,” Martin said, “I like to be thorough, make sure not to crush us.”

“I appreciate that, I suppose.” She looked him up and down, then walked forward to inspect the body of Timothy Hodge. “Yeah, it’s dead.” she confirmed. “Gross. You did this?”

“With fire extinguishers, yeah.” Martin said.

“How’d you figure that out?”

“Panic?” Martin came up with an answer on the spot. It wasn’t even that much of a lie. “I just grabbed the closest thing and started spraying.”

“Not swinging?” she asked, “I’d think a fire extinguisher would make a better melee weapon.”

“I really didn’t want to get too close to the worms. Fast little buggers.”

Daisy looked at the ground. “Fair enough,” she said, pushing some worm corpses around with her feet. “Lucky you were all wearing denim. And boots.”

“Yeah, it really was. Well, except for Georgie. She didn’t get the memo, I suppose.” Martin wasn’t going to give her the admission she was so clearly looking for, “But, again, this wasn’t entirely unexpected. We’ve been dressing like this for a while now.”

“Let’s go back, I’ve seen enough.” Daisy turned and started walking unprompted. “Why didn’t you call anyone, if you knew this was coming?”

“Didn’t think anyone would believe us.” Martin shrugged. “I mean, we get stories about this sort of thing all the time, and even we were skeptical at first. I mean, come on, man eating worms? We thought the police or ECDC or whoever would just laugh at us for being scared of worms.”

“Hm. The word you want is weird.”

“Pardon?”

“Call something ‘weird’ on the phone to the dispatchers or whoever. That’ll let them know to send Sectioned officers, the ones used to this sort of thing.”

“Oh, alright,” Martin said. He already knew that, but he wasn’t supposed to. “Thanks for letting me know. Can’t believe we weren’t told that before.”

“You could also just mention the Institute.” Daisy shrugged, “We know that this place is plenty weird too. And the people working in it.”

Well, that was either a threat or a joke.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

They came back to the trapdoor into the Archives, just as Basira was coming back down the stairs.

“Did you just finish the call?” Daisy asked, clearly shocked.

“The signal kept dropping.” Basira shoved her phone in her pocket with prejudice.

“Sorry, it does that.” Martin slipped the Jon tape recorder back into his pocket.

* * *

When Basira and Daisy started talking about splitting up, Jon knew he and Martin probably should as well. He wasn’t able to say as much - and Martin would probably go into conniptions if he spoke again - but Martin still got the point.

(He was never going to live down being stupid enough to forget he wasn’t plugged into headphones.)

As Daisy and Martin left, Basira pulled out her phone and started scrolling through her contacts. Then she scoffed and lifted her phone above her head. Jon didn’t have to do anything in order to achieve that, the Archives just generally had terrible reception.

“I’m going to go upstairs to make some calls.” Basira said. “You all just… get comfortable.” she glanced around the room at all the worm corpses on the floor. At least she visibly acknowledged how difficult that was going to be.

There was also, of course, the implication that they shouldn’t leave yet.

Jon knew that, once she got her call through, she would still have to wait to be transferred to the Section-equivalent part of the ECDC, and then it would take even longer for them to arrive. He had time.

“ _ Go ahead and get comfortable. Ah, I think there are some chairs in that storage closet that didn't get wormed?” _ Jon said. Half the people jumped out of their skin in shock, but Georgie just stood and walked to the first storage closet she saw. The Archives truly had a lot of them, squirreled away as hiding spots. “ _ No, the other one, to the left? _ ” Georgie got it right on the second try.

Once the metal folding chairs had been distributed, Jon started to talk. “ _ So, basically, you’re about to be interrogated by the police! Yay!” _

“Yay,” Melanie shook her fists in a significantly less excited mockery of the expression.

“ _ Yeah, you get used to it after a while _ ,” Jon said, “ _ Besides, you should be glad you’re only being interrogated by Basira and not Daisy. _ ”

“You know them?” Sasha asked.

“ _ In the future, yes. In time they both eventually work in the Archives.” _

“Christ,” Tim stood up and started pacing. Jon understood, he was full of nervous energy and adrenaline. “Who doesn’t eventually get roped into working here.”

(Upstairs, Basira had finally found the number for the ECDC, and her phone was ringing. With a small tweak, the cell service dropped. Basira pulled down her phone, glared at it, and held it up to try again.)

“ _ Them two are the last ones, don’t worry,” _ Jon said. “ _ And trust me when I say you do not want to be interrogated by Daisy. She never interrogated me, but apparently she was scary.” _

“Why was she interrogating you?” Georgie asked, “Hell, why would she be interrogating any of us right now? We haven’t done anything.”

“ _ With Daisy, just about anything becomes an interrogation. And as for why she was interrogating people last time, they found a dead body in my office with a lot of the evidence pointing towards me.” _

“Did you do it?” Melanie asked.

“ _ No, I was framed, _ ” Jon said, “ _ Didn’t really stop Daisy from taking me out to the woods to shoot me though. Wait, why am I telling you my life story, I’m meant to be telling you how to lie to the police.” _

“I’m down,” Georgie said. Everyone else nodded. Jon was really glad he had associated himself with a group of crime goblins.

(Upstairs, Basira was on the phone with the ECDC. She explained the situation to the phone operator, and then was on hold.)

“ _ So, we’re not wholesale lying to the police. Tell them the real story with some edits - that you all were out to lunch and Sasha realized she’d left some of her things in the archives. Then you came here and the Flesh Hives attacked you. Don’t tell them about me, or about Leitner.” _

“Why don’t we just tell them that we saw the worm guy in the wild?” past-Martin asked, “You know, the truth?”

“ _ Well, the first reason is that we’ve already lied about that.” _ Jon said, “ _ Second reason is we don’t want to look too competent.” _

“Too competent.” Sasha repeated, “Why not?”

“ _ We don’t want Daisy to get too suspicious.” _ Jon said, “ _ If she gets too suspicious she’ll hang out here more, and there’s more of a chance she will decide to kill someone, or otherwise cause a problem. I really want to avoid that.” _

“There’s a system, though,” past-Martin said, “She wouldn’t just kill somebody.”

“ _ No, she absolutely would. That’s why we want her around as little as possible.” _ Jon said.

(Basira was still on hold. Like the police, the ECDC had to scramble to find people willing to take the Sectioned job. Jon reached out, tweaked the signal, and the call dropped again. From Basira’s cut-off yell, this was the last time he was going to be able to do that.)

“Okay, so we went from man-eating worms to murderous cops,” Melanie rolled her eyes. “Yay,”

“ _ They didn’t expressly come here to murder people,” _ Jon realized he had probably played up the murder aspect too much. They were scared, which was not conducive to lying to the police. “ _ It’s just something to be aware of. They probably will not kill anybody.” _

“Probably,” Tim scoffed.

“ _ I don’t know the future.” _ Jon said. “ _ But, most likely scenario, they just go home and we all move on with our lives.” _

(The worms were starting to smell now, the bitter scent of decay with the tang of fruit. Jon didn’t smell this, but he Knew this.)

(A good way to hide a body is to bury it several feet down, then bury an animal body a few feet above it. The investigators will think the cadaver dog just smelled the rotting animal and move on with their search.)

(Daisy never bothered anything that complicated, though, all she did was-)

This is not helpful.

“So we were out, forgot something, came back here, got wormed.” Georgie said.

“ _ Essentially, yes,” _ Jon said, “ _ You knew the CO2 trick because it was in a statement and the cursed book came from Artefact Storage, or somewhere else in the Institute.” _

“I mean, they don’t normally just lend items out of Artefact Storage like that, though,” Sasha started to argue.

“ _ Yes, but the police don’t need to know that.” _ Jon said, “ _ We’re lying.” _

“I’ll go first,” Georgie volunteered.

“Why do I feel like you’re just looking for a reason to lie to the police?” past-Jon asked.

“Maybe so,” Georgie said.

(Upstairs, Basira finally got her call through. Once she actually had them on the line, the conversation was short and sweet. The ECDC was on their way now.)

At the same time, the trapdoor opened. Daisy and Martin came out just as Basira came down the stairs. It looked almost like they’d planned it that way.

“Did you just finish the call?” Daisy asked.

“The signal kept dropping,” Basira grumbled, waved her phone and shoved it into her pocket.

“Sorry, it does that,” Martin walked across the room to put Jon back in his pocket. They still didn’t have headphones, so Jon would have to remember to be quiet. He stopped spinning all together, now only able to observe. This way he wasn’t able to have accidents. “I think it’s because the building is so old? It’s a real hassle.”

“The ECDC is on their way.” Basira said, “In the meantime, however, they recommended that we all leave the building. Something about there being a possibility of fumes.”

“Gladly.” Tim said, “It’s starting to stink something awful.”

They walked through the main office on their way to the stairs. It looked awful in there, worm carcasses everywhere and statements covered in goo. Those would have to be burned, most likely. Ah well, most of the ones on the floor were fake, anyways.

Martin stopped briefly to investigate his headphones. He had to nudge a few worm carcasses out of the way (he’d need to change his bandages sooner rather than later) and found they were both ripped in half and covered in goo. Lovely. 

Those would also need to be burned, then.

(Being around the goo too long would make people Sick, Jon Knew, so it was probably for the best that Basira insisted they leave.)

In the street, the officers began taking their statements, though it was clear their hearts weren’t in it. It was just a Sectioned job, and they wanted to be done with it sooner than later. Georgie went with Daisy, and rambled on long enough that Basira was able to go through all of the others. It helped that Basira was going as fast as she could.

Basira and Daisy hovered to talk with the ECDC guys when they arrived, but they were far enough away that the crew could talk without fearing being overheard.

“How did you talk to her so long?” Tim asked, “Just being around her gave me the heebies.”

Georgie shrugged, “I’ve got good nerves.” she said, “Seemed for the best that I talked to her.”

“I agree, thanks.” Martin said.

“But, in return, I expect a full explanation,” she said, pointing at him.

“Of course,” Martin said, “Now probably wouldn’t be the best time for that, however.” he gestured vaguely at everything. Even though people wanted their answers now, no one argues. Everyone was exhausted, and emotionally wrung out. None of them were even able to properly respond to the Tape-Jon revelation.

Sasha and Tim shared a look. “We were going to have a movie night next Friday,” Sasha said, “That gives us plenty of time to process all of this and come up with questions and answers?”

“What movie?” Melanie asked.

“I have a collection,” Sasha said, “Both good and bad movies, depending on the mood. Feel free to bring your own if you have any suggestions, though.”

“Yeah, that works,” Georgie said, “Text me the details.”

A car pulled up to the curb then. It was much too nice to be the ECDC, not to mention far too small to carry the amount of supplies needed.

Elias got out of it. Because of course he did.

(Once again, Jon cursed that Elias was so hard to See. It was like crossing his eyes to see his own nose; there’s definitely something there but it’s blurry, hard to make out, and gives him a headache if he stares too long.)

“I heard there was quite the commotion,” Elias said, “So I decided to stop by. Is everyone alright?”

“We’re fine,” Sasha said.

“No one got wormed.” Martin said, tucking his bandaged fingers behind his back, although it really was pointless.

“Hm.” Elias said, glancing between the two Martins. “I’ll admit, I was suspicious, but this is not what I was expecting.”

“The Mother sends her regards,” Martin said with a grin. It wasn’t true, but it gave Elias another piece of information to agonize over and plan around. “Fortunately, we were able to make it without the fire suppression system this time.”

“Time travel?” Elias asked. “Fascinating. Are you alone?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” this was the part Martin hated, drawing the Lonely to rest over him like a blanket, like a curtain from prying Eyes. It hurt, it chilled him to the bone, but it kept Elias from knowing anything about him.

It worked, too. Martin felt something try and shift the mist, and Elias looked mildly uncomfortable before the feeling passed. “Well, I’m glad everyone’s alright.”

“So are we,” Martin said.

“You all can go home, I’ll take care of it from here. I think you deserve time to rest after all of that,” Elias said, “I will send you updates on if the Archives need to be closed for any amount of time for cleaning or while the police investigate.”

“Of course,” Sasha said. They all watched as Elias walked over to the police.

“Well shit,” Melanie said, “You work for  _ him _ ?”

“He takes being an evil capitalist to the next level, I know,” Martin said, “Do be careful not to piss him off too badly.”

“Why not?” Georgie asked.

“Because he’s evil and has magical voyeur powers.” Martin said, “Trust me, you don’t want him poking around in there.”

“And you can back sass him scott-free?” Tim asked.

That reminded Martin to take the blanket of Lonely off. He felt much more agreeable now, and tingly as warmth re-entered his skin. “I have a few protections. Unpleasant, but they do in a pinch. And, honestly, I don’t know if he can say anything to scar me more than I already am…”

“ _ Geez, depressing much? _ ” Jon started spinning again so he could add his commentary.

“Oh good, you’re back,” Martin said, “I was beginning to get a bit worried.”

“ _ I was just being quiet so no one would notice me,” _ Jon defended, “ _ It’s not exactly like I’m going anywhere.” _

“I know, I know,” Martin waved him off. “Anyways, we should probably all go home now. Sleep off all this and plan to reconvene later. Last time, the Archives were closed for a week for cleaning, and then most of us had an extra week of medical leave after that. We have time.”

“Where are you going to stay?” Georgie asked.

“Uh, I, well,” Martin stuttered and pointed vaguely over his shoulder at the ground.

“You just said yourself the Institute is going to be crawling with ECDC and police.” Georgie pointed out.

“Darn, you’re right.” Martin gnawed on the inside of his cheek, “We’ll just get a hotel, then. Shouldn’t be too hard.”

“You can stay at my place.” Georgie said, “I have a guest room.”

“ _ Rolling in that sock money…” _

“Oh, we really can just go to a hotel,” Martin said, “It’s no bother,”

“You’ve convinced me,” Georgie said, “You’re staying at my place.”

“Do I get a choice in the matter?”

“No.”

“Alright.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are! I hope yall enjoy!  
> I don't think this is super relevant but I just got a pretty neat keyboard. they keys are circles like a typewriter! makes me super excited to write now.


	13. Movie Night!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Movie Night or an interrogation? We can do both!

Georgie led Blackwood back to her flat. After the police had properly dismissed them, they hadn’t wasted any time in scattering and going to lick their wounds, especially after Blackwood pointed out that if they hovered too long the ECDC may want to talk to them, too. Everyone was done talking to authority figures by that point.

“Actually, can I meet you there?” Blackwood asked, “Most of my stuff is locked in the tunnels, I need to run to the shops.”

“You know where my flat is?” Georgie asked. Then, of course, a combination of time travel and voyeur god, “Right, of course, I’ll see you there.

She didn’t quite know how she felt about all of this. She certainly didn’t know that meeting up with an old friend from uni would directly lead to getting involved in all this spooky stuff, and she wasn’t sure she was okay with it.

In her flat, she popped a frozen dinner in the oven and dropped a pile of fresh linens on the guest bed. Blackwood could make up his own bed.

He knocked on the door about half an hour later, holding a few armfuls of bags and wearing a new pair of headphones, bright red now. “Thanks for the offer,” he said, making his way directly to the guest room.

“You’ve been here before, then?” she asked. She leaned against the door and watched him set about putting things down.

“Yeah,” Blackwood sat on the bed and smiled at her, “Believe it or not, this isn’t the first time you’ve bullied me into staying at your place,”

“I did think you caved pretty quickly.” Georgie sat down next to him, “We were friends in the future-past then?”

“Mostly,” Blackwood laughed, “Except our first meeting we kind of had a yelling match. If Melanie hadn’t shown up when she did I think I would have thrown hands.”

“That bad?”

“Yeah, I was in a bad place.” he shrugged. He looked uncomfortable, “You were making grandiose statements about things you didn’t know much about, and I took offense.” he looked at her out of the corner of his eye, like he was scared of her reaction.

She wasn’t angry. It was a fair assessment of her character, “I’ve been known to do that,” she said. Then, she decided to fish for new information. “So, how long have you two been together?” she nodded at the headphones.

“I- uh, what? How do you mean?” he stuttered.

Georgie was not impressed. “That 'married couple' comment wasn’t just a joke,” she looked between him and the tape again, “How long?”

“Uh, like two years? Give or take a few months?” he looked more uncertain than the question demanded. “Time got a bit weird in the middle there.”

“A bit weird?”

“Yeah. Technically no time passed at all, but the whole world experienced it as a literally unmeasurable amount of time. Most people forgot all about it, but we didn’t. So, two years. Give or take.”

“I’m a bit curious about the how, as well,”

Blackwood tilted his head and laughed, “This feels like a conversation for pajamas and ice cream.” he relayed from the third participant in this conversation.

“That can be arranged.” Georgie settled back. “Take those earphones out, I wanna talk to both of you.”

Blackwood looked briefly panicked before relenting.

“ _ Yes, hello Georgie. _ ”

“Hello to you too.” she crossed her legs, “Did I scare you off immediately?”

_ “Yes.” _

“The headphones are mainly because  _ someone _ doesn’t pay enough attention to realize when it’s a bad time to say things.” Blackwood was accusing, but in a mostly playful way. Mostly. 

“ _ I said sorry. You were going down there anyways.” _

“Yes, but this time I had Daisy giving me a death stare the whole time.” Blackwood rolled his eyes, “Do you think Elias called for Daisy and Basira specifically?”

“ _ We’re just as much a blind spot to him as he is to us,” _ Tape-Jon said, “ _ So it was probably just our own rotten luck. _ ”

“So, I must reiterate,” Georgie asked, “How did you two get together?”

“ _ You sure you don’t want to wait for ice cream and pajamas?” _

“Nope, I’m too curious.” Georgie said, “So?”

“Apparently running from countless supernatural threats together is a good bonding experience.” Blackwood shrugged.

“ _ I wouldn’t say countless. _ ”

“Well I am.”

“ _ It took a nasty encounter with supernatural depression for us to actually do anything about it, though.” _ Tape-Jon finished it off.

“Sounds messy.” Georgie concluded.

“It was,” Blackwood said.

“I’ve got frozen lasagna in the oven.”

“Oh, that sounds lovely.”

“That’s not the end of this discussion. But, if supernatural depression’s involved, we’re putting on pajamas, eating ice cream _and_ doing each other’s nails.”

* * *

The Archives did end up being closed for a full week while the ECDC did a deep clean, so everyone got that time off. Sasha went shopping on Thursday, both because they were having their movie night the next day, and because the shops were all but deserted on Thursday morning.

When she got home, arms laden with bags, there was a bright yellow door waiting for her. It was right next to her normal door, but only appeared inside her flat and not in the hall. “Good morning Michael,” she didn't pay it much mind and swept past to the kitchen. The ice cream would begin to melt soon.

“So,” Michael said with a voice like nails on a chalkboard, “I hear your lot had a close encounter with the Flesh Hives.”

“A bit too close for comfort, honestly,” she said, tucking the ice cream away first. The rest of her groceries weren’t in immediate danger of spoiling, so she leaned her elbows on the counter, “You didn’t tell me there were two Flesh Hives.”

“Why do you think I wanted to meet you at the cemetery?” Michael asked. He leaned against the cabinets in a way that looked uncomfortable and anatomically incorrect, “The one Flesh Hive, the one that was male before, was isolated there. I thought I could lend you a hand,” he held up one of his extremely bony hands with a smile that hurt her eyes more than normal.

“Was he now?” Sasha kept her face carefully devoid of emotion.

Michael grinned like the cat that got the cream. Maybe her face wasn’t as neutral as she thought. “He was indeed. He would have been very easy pickings then. He had just Become, you see, and he didn’t have enough worms amassed to be dangerous yet. I even had a CO2 canister waiting for you.”

“Become?”

“Wow, whatever your source of information is, they really don’t tell you much.” Michael moved like water to sit on the counter top, tracing his hand along the bags. One of the reusable ones ripped right down the middle. “Becoming something more than mortal is a long, painful process.”

“I would imagine,” Sasha said. “How was it for you?”

“Bold of you to assume I ever was mortal,” Michael tilted his head like his neck simply didn’t exist.

Sasha hummed. For some reason, she did believe he was mortal once, however long ago it may have been. Mostly, she couldn’t think of an immortal, god-adjacent being deciding to call itself Michael.

“So, this is for a movie night?” He picked up a box of popcorn with one of his nails. Luckily, it didn’t break. Sasha did not want to have to pick a ton of individual corns off the ground.

“Yes,” Sasha said. “We’re using it as a sort of debrief.”

“Ah, the Interlopers claim they’ll explain everything, hm?” he chuckled.

“I’ll hear them out,” Sasha said. “I don’t believe they’ve lied to me yet.”

“Only omitting truths and letting you come to your own conclusions?” Michael’s head turned one hundred-eighty degrees on his neck, but his smile stayed upright.

“What do you know about them?” Sasha decided to ask as she went about putting away groceries. She felt comfortable enough to turn her back to Michael, even.

“More than you.” he said.

“That doesn’t mean much,” Sasha shrugged, “You could just mean you know which shops they shop at.”

“Fair,” Michael stood - ‘stood’ being relative to his position earlier, human bones didn’t move like that - and followed her about her kitchen. “Do you know what coffin he was talking about?”

“Uh,” Sasha ran a quick mental scan on coffins, “That delivery man a few weeks ago?”

“The Delivery Men,” he said it like it was capitalized, “Are tied to the coffin so you were close, but not quite.”

“He had them deliver it,” Sasha said.

“Which is what delivery men do, these two especially,” Michael smiled, despite not actually giving Sasha any new information yet. “The Coffin is like a honeytrap. It pulls people in and keeps them there, not allowing them to sleep or die, just suffocating for eternity.”

“That’s,” Sasha thought of the space under her bed when she was a child. She had found it comforting, actually, until one time she had accidentally fallen asleep down there and woken up trapped and disoriented and with something crawling on her leg. “That’s unpleasant.”

“Well put, Observer.”

“I’m sorry I don’t have something deeper to say.” Sasha snapped, then pulled herself back. She wasn’t sure how much attitude Mr. Knifehands was willing to put up with. “Do you know where he sent it?”

“Pity,” his footsteps sounded like they were retreating, but that meant next to nothing, “I was hoping you would.”

“Do you know why he would send it somewhere?” Sasha asked.

“I don’t know, that’s your thing.”

Sasha hadn’t expected anything else. “Alright.” she said. A door slammed shut, and when she turned around she was alone with her ruined grocery bags. She rolled her eyes and threw the ribbons away.

But, as she sat down to watch her shows, she couldn’t stop thinking. For how confident and hyper-competent Blackwood was, how could he allow Timothy Hodge to slip through the cracks, if not on purpose?

Maybe movie night would be informative, but she didn’t have high hopes.

* * *

“Thanks for offering to host,” Melanie said as Sasha let her in.

“Yeah, of course,” Sasha walked in with her, “I’ve been hosting our movie nights for a few weeks now, it’s no trouble to add you two to the mix.”

“Oh, speaking of, I got a text from Georgie. She and the time traveler are going to be a bit late I guess. Something to do with a kitchen problem?”

“Kitchen problem?”

“Doesn’t really surprise me,” Melanie said, “That woman does not know her way around a kitchen.”

“Oh,” Sasha smiled. They were in her kitchen now, Tim poking his head in from the sitting room. “Yeah, I don’t know much about Martin’s cooking skills, but Jon heats tea in the microwave.”

Sasha took the bag of crisps and soda bottle from Melanie and laid them on her counter. There were already some cheetos and twinkies from Tim, and the meat and cheese platters and soda she brought. Movies always went better with snacks, after all.

“No, Jon’s actually good, remember?” Tim said, “According to Martin, Jon’s been cooking for him,” he said this with an indicative eyebrow wiggle.

“Really?” Melanie asked, “Like, the ones from this timeline? Are they together?”

“Funny you’d ask that,” Sasha said, walking Melanie to the couch and sitting.

“Yes but also no,” Tim added. “They’re rooming together because Martin’s flat got Wormed and while they certainly seem closer than they were before, I don’t think they’re dating? Just pining. Which they accel at.”

“Oh my god they were roommates,” Melanie said without even thinking.

Sasha laughed, “Yes, roommates indeed.”

“We’re totally trying to get them together, by the way.” Tim said, “Subtly, though. We don’t want to scare them off.”

“But, their future selves are married. I think the cat’s kinda out of the bag,” Melanie accepted a seat on the couch. She had gotten the memo and had showed up already in pajamas.

“That’s the best part,” Tim said, “They didn’t pick up on that little fact.”

“What? No,” Melanie said, “There’s no way they’re that oblivious.”

“Oh, there absolutely is,” Sasha said, “Trust me, if Jonathan Sims does not want to think something is true, then it just will not be true. It took the time travelers appearing for him to even consider the existence of the supernatural. The man probably doesn’t even realize he’s pining as hard as he is.”

“And Martin will just think any clues he notices are just his own wishful thinking.” Tim said, “I cannot disclose the contents of the phone calls I have received but, oh yeah, massive denial.”

“Poor guys,” Melanie shook her head.

Someone knocked at the door, so Sasha popped up again to answer it. It was Georgie and Blackwood, the former holding a two-liter of soda and the other holding a box of store-made biscuits. Blackwood was also wearing his earbuds.

“Hey you two!” Sasha greeted them, “Come on in!”

“Sorry we’re a tad late,” Blackwood said.

“No, not at all,” Sasha waved them in, “In fact, you’re here before Jon and Martin.”

“We are?” Georgie asked.

Sasha walked them through to the main room, and they joined everyone else on the couches. Georgie made herself right at home next to Melanie, while Blackwood just sat in the corner of the couch.

“Apparently they’re just down the street,” Blackwood reported. Then, when everyone looked at him funny, he tapped on his ear bud. “Just, ah, relaying information.”

“Speaking of, take that thing out!” Tim shouted a little bit louder than strictly necessary. “We’ve got questions for both of you!”

Sasha caught on quick, “Yeah, and we need to ask you before your past-selves get here.”

Blackwood sighed and tugged the earbuds first out of his ears, then the tape recorder. He folded the earbuds methodically and tucked them in his pocket, and placed the tape recorder next to him on the armrest.

With this new angle, everyone got a much better view of the recorder than they had during the Worm Siege. It looked like it had been through hell, battered and littered with dents and scrapes and singe marks. At the very top, there was a little strip of masking tape with a silly face drawn on it.

“So,” Tim continued, almost as if they had rehearsed this, “Are you two together?”

Static crackled through the speakers, sounding like a very long, drawn-out sigh. It was a very familiar sigh.

“ _ If you mean romantically, then yes.” _ Tape-Jon said, “ _ Contrary to popular belief, I have feelings.” _

“Oh no, it wasn’t a question if you had feelings,” Tim said, “It was whether or not you realised you had feelings.”

“ _ That’s fair, actually.” _ Tape-Jon said. “ _ And the answer to that is… probably not? It took me a really long time to notice.” _

“So what did it take?” Sasha asked.

Blackwood sighed, “A couple kidnappings, a few death or near-miss experiences, two entire apocalypses,”

“ _ I had it figured out before the second apocalypse, thank you very much.” _

“The  _ second _ apocalypse?” Melanie asked.

“Well,” Blackwood shrugged, “We technically avoided the first one.”

“ _ It’s that Unknowing, we briefly mentioned it in the tunnels,”  _ Tape-Jon said. “ _ We averted that apocalypse, kind of, although it wasn’t pleasant. _ ”

“I can imagine it wasn’t pleasant,” Sasha said, “Do you have any more details to give?”

Blackwood sighed, and the static modulated slightly. “Yes, but we’d rather wait until everyone’s here for that.”

“ _ To answer very quickly the questions we will not answer around the past two; It was a very tense time and we ran away and had a very nice three weeks in Scotland before the second apocalypse hit.” _

As if on cue, there were three efficient raps on the door.

“I got it,” Tim said, quickly overtaking Sasha and pushing her back towards the couch, “You’ve been up and down all evening enough as it is,” he said.

Tim bullied Jon and Martin into the main room, as expected, and pushed them into the remaining two seats which ‘just so happened’ to be right next to each other.

“Lovely of you to join us,” Georgie said.

“Sorry,” Martin tried to make himself look small, “We were running behind, and then we left the snacks, and-”

“Lotta ‘we’s in that sentence, Marto.” Tim said, “You still slumming it at Jon’s place?”

“I- uhm, yeah?” Blackwood was honestly just surprised Martin was able to get out actual words through that blush.

“Weird,” Sasha said, “Considering you should be safe from worms now…”

The static crackled, almost like clearing its throat, and Jon latched onto that. “Ah, yes, answers! That’s what we’re here for.”

“I thought we were here for movie night?” Melanie said, “If we’re here for an interrogation, I am afraid I am horribly mis-dressed.” she pointed down at her pajamas.

“Don’t worry,” Georgie said, in a very similar state of dress (her pajamas), “We can multitask.”

“Alright,” Sasha said, walking to her movie cabinet, “Before we get too into the interrogation, let’s pick out a movie. Serious or silly?”

The near-unanimous (save for Jon) decision was to watch a silly movie. Then no one really had a preference for which silly movie to watch, so Sasha wrote a bunch of names to put into a hat for people to choose from. In the end, the actual movie ended up not mattering.

During the opening credits and ads ahead of the movie, people cycled through the kitchen to grab snacks and drinks.

The first five minutes or so of the movie passed in silence before the first question was asked. “So,” Melanie said, “What exactly was the story with all the worms?”

“Ah, so I briefly mentioned the fear gods before. That’s a simplistic description of them, but it’s good enough. One of the gods is the Corruption, fear of bugs, disease, rot and toxic relationships.”

“How are toxic relationships related to all of that, again?” Sasha asked.

“It’s hard to explain, exactly,” Blackwood said, “It’s just something I’ve seen a lot. Like, Jane Prentiss for example. She was described as being a ‘toxic’ person, and as such was alone. Then she found a wasps’ nest - jury still out on whether it actually was a wasps’ nest - then one thing led to another and she was a home for worms.”

“ _ It’s like how toxic people just leach away at their relationships." _ Tape-Jon said, “ _ They just keep taking and taking and rotting away the people around them. It is one of those things that’s better explained through exposure, though.” _

“Exposure which you won’t let us get.” Jon said. He wasn’t pouting, though he may have been sullen. A bit annoyed and extremely curious.

“You don’t want more exposure,” Blackwood said, “Trust us.”

“Back on topic,” Georgie said, “I can accept that us running into Hodge was a complete coincidence, but what about the worm woman living in the walls? Prentiss?”

“ _ We have two main theories about that one,” _ Tape-Jon said, “ _ Theory one is that she was attempting a ritual, to rot through the barrier between worlds. She could have been using the Archives as a source of fear to do that.” _

“Ritual?” Tim asked.

“ _ Look,” _ Tape-Jon said, “ _ You’re not going to get any satisfying answers if you interrupt every other sentence. We’re planning on getting there, and we’ll get there. Patience.”  _

“Yes, fine, continue,” Tim sat back again.

“Our other guess is that Elias had something to do with it,” Blackwood said, “That he one way or another got it into her head that she needed to attack the Archives and showed her to the tunnels.”

“ _ Or a combination of the two,” _

“Oh yeah,” Blackwood agreed, “It could totally also be a combination of those two options. Or some other, third option we just haven’t thought of yet.”

“What would Elias have to gain, though?” Sasha asked.

“Evil capitalist?” Melanie suggested, “He just wants to see the world burn.”

“ _ Actually, you’re not too far off from the truth.” _ Tape-Jon said.

Melanie groaned, “Off course.”

“Oh, is it one of those apocalypses you were talking about earlier?” Tim asked.

“Apocalypses, plural?” Martin asked.

“Yeah,” Blackwood said, “We’ve had about two now,”

“About?”

“Well, it depends on your definition of apocalypse.” Martin said, “And do near-misses count.”

“How near of a miss?” Georgie asked.

“ _ Most of the apocalypse-stopping party died,” _ Tape-Jon said, “ _ Although, think of it, most of us who died did get better.” _

“For a certain definition of better.”

“ _ Yes, for a certain definition of better.” _

“So,” Sasha said like she was dragging them back on topic kicking and screaming, “Are these rituals related to the apocalypses.”

“Yes,” Blackwood said, “See, each fear god has a following of sorts. Some of these followers are proper avatars, and some of them are just fanatics. The goal of most of these groups, and the cults especially, is to bring their god into this world. They do that via rituals, the results of which are very apocalyptic.”

“ _ Could be very apocalyptic,” _

“If done correctly, yes, which very few of them actually are.”

“So, when you say Prentiss may have been attempting a ritual…” Jon trailed off, “Wouldn’t it be obvious, though?”

“ _ Not necessarily,” _ tape-Jon said. “ _ There are other forces at play. For example; any entity can only attempt a ritual once every couple hundred years or so. This event didn’t really get far along enough to tell if she was actually attempting a ritual. It does look like it, though.” _

“In any case,” Blackwood added, “She didn’t get anywhere close enough to enough power to have any apocalyptic effects.”

“So, the Unknowing is a ritual for the Circus?” Tim asked.

“For the Stranger specifically, but yes, both times the Unknowing has been attempted it was by the Circus of the Other.” Blackwood said. “It’s one of the more elaborate rituals, it involves a bunch of different roles and such. From what I heard it was not pleasant.”

“ _ Ugh, not at all,” _ Tape-Jon said, “ _ Nothing made sense anymore. It hurts to even remember it.” _

“And the bomb.”

“ _ And the bomb.” _

“Bomb?” Martin squeaked.

“Yeah, that’s how we stopped the Unknowing,” Blackwood said, “Blew it up with a ton of C4.”

“How did you get a bunch of C4?” Melanie asked.

“ _ Gertrude’s got a stash hidden away somewhere,” _ Tape-Jon said, “ _ I still don’t know where she got it.” _

“And the second apocalypse?” Jon asked.

“ _ Yeah, that one’s on me.” _ Tape-Jon said.

“Absolutely not!” Blackwood interrupted before he was even done. “It’s like a gun. Someone shoots a person with a gun, do you blame the gun? No! You blame the person! Jesus.”

“What?” Tim asked.

“ _ Elias popped off his own ritual - kickstarted the apocalypse, essentially.” _ Tape-Jon audibly grimaced, “ _ He used me as, like, a fire starter. Marked me up with each of the horrors then released them through me. Not pleasant.” _

“And that’s how you turned into a tape?” Sasha asked.

“ _ Ah, no, that was ending the apocalypse,” _ Tape-Jon said, “ _ Uhm, this is the simplified version, but the basic idea is that since the fears were released through me I could also kinda… slurp them back up? I sealed them in the tape and, at the same time, I was sealed into the tape.” _

“So…” Tim asked, “Are they, like… all in there with you?”

“No,” Blackwood said. “They all got distributed into different tapes. I hid most of the other ones. This one was the only one that didn’t have any obvious identifying markings on the outside, so I just kept it around.”

_ “Lucky thing too,” _ Tape-Jon said with a smile and a laugh in his voice, “ _ I’d hate to be encased in concrete right now.” _

“Even with all that fly-ash you were telling me about?” Blackwood leaned his hand on the tape and grinned.

“ _ Especially with the fly-ash,” _ he said, “ _ That stuff’s smelly.” _

“Says the guy with no nose.”

“ _ I just Know it’s smelly, and that’s even worse.” _

That seemed to work as a good breaking point for everyone. They all settled back and turned their attention to the movie, trying to pick up on the plot from halfway through. Tape-Jon kept jumping in with fun lore about the actors or production of the film, but was useless with plot questions.

It was all normal. Just a fun movie night, where a few of the participants were already starting to drift off to sleep. And that felt just so, bone-churningly, wrong to Jon.

It was just so different. The way this new time traveler, supposedly him, acted; it wasn’t right. There was no way it was him. The almost gentle, comfortable happiness. It was so ill-fitting, it chafed at Jon. There was no way any version of him had that. It was too out of the realm of possibility.

And also, the ending of the story was too perfect. All happy and tied off with a neat little bow, the heroes going off into the sunset, heroic, to live their lives. That’s not how the real world works, nothing ever ends all nice and pretty. If nothing else, they were lying.

Despite this internal conflict, Jon too was not immune to the immense soporific effects of yet a second bad movie, this one somehow worse and funnier than the one before. He passed out on the couch with everyone else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year! May 2021 be entirely uneventful.  
> (Also - michael! michael! get back in your... you.)


	14. Chapter 14

“That was nice,” Jon said, sprawled out on Martin’s chest. The setting was different from their usual shared dreams. Instead of the ratty old couch in the safehouse, they were sprawled out on Sasha’s sofa, her bright throw pillows crushed under Martin and a scratchy sofa blanket thrown across Jon.

It was a nice texture, different from his normal dream-fare. Even nicer were Martin’s hands on top of the blanket, stroking up and down along his back.

Sasha’s TV was on in the background, flickering with a gently ominous static. Jon did his best to ignore it; everytime he thought too hard about something the screen lit up with that subject. Usually it was just different, hazy and indistinct images of Martin, which were only mildly embarrassing.

It was better than the flashes of worms and worms and worms, though. Martin had made a face at that, when the gentle static had fractured into screams and squirming.

“We’re here to Not think of that,” he had said, “Comfy things only,” and Jon agreed.

Martin’s arms tightened around his back, “So, did you enjoy our interrogation?”

“It’s nice to have a lot of that off of my chest, so to say.” Jon said, “I’ve been waiting for the other shoe to drop for a while.”

“I understand that,” Martin mused. “How do you feel now that they know?” one of his hands wandered up to play ion Jon’s hair.

Jon hummed. It was an interesting sensation, buzzing in his throat. He knew that if he kept it up long and loud enough he would feel it in his teeth and lips, but Martin had gotten fondly annoyed the last time he did that during a conversation.

(And a little sad, too.)

“It was bound to happen eventually.” Jon said, “But, hm, I just can’t help but feel like all of this has been far too easy.”

“Far too easy?” Martin asked, “Fighting two Flesh Hives at once without a CO2 fire suppression system?”

“That’s not what I meant and you know that.” Jon said, “It’s just, I feel like they’re taking all this too well. No one’s panicking or calling us liars or anything. They just accepted it, then let us crash on their couch.”

“Okay, I do see your point.” Martin said, “Maybe they’re just too weirded out at this point? Maybe the universe has finally allowed for something to go right for us.”

“Forgive me for being skeptical.” Jon said. “I’d rather them all just air their grievances and get it over with already.”

Martin chewed on that thought, then decided to change the subject. “How do you think Tim took the news of the Unknowing?”

“Pretty well, actually” Jon said, “But now we’re either going to have to find a way to let him help in a non-lethal way, or go behind his back.”

“I don’t think we should go behind his back,” Martin said, “That’s not how you make friends, Jon.“

“Is that it? I thought it was just my charming personality driving people away.”

“Yes, yes, very funny.” Martin said. “I think we should let Tim decide how much he wants to be involved. But, also, we need to explain to him the danger.”

“And how much we don’t want him to be dead.”

“I don’t think he’s realized that’s how he died yet.” Martin sighed.

Jon pursed his lips - another physical sensation he couldn’t indulge in too long without derailing the conversation. “He’s been avoiding thinking about the fact that he died in general, actually.”

“I know he has.”

Martin went silent and still then. Jon let him sit like that for a moment before stepping in, “What’s up?”

“It’s just so easy, which I know, makes me a hypocrite.” Martin said. “It almost makes me feel like… what did we do wrong last time? Could it really have been this simple all along?”

“No,” Jon said immediately, “We have so much more information now. And, not to sound crass, but we kinda needed Tim… like he was. With the information we had, him being ‘like that’ was a benefit.”

“It just makes me feel stupid, in retrospect.”

“Well, that’s the benefit of hindsight, isn’t it?” Jon said. “Nothing can change what we did the first time, okay? So don’t beat yourself up about it.”

“I’m sorry, I-”

The next instant Jon was in the tape and Martin was awake.

Martin sat straight up on the sofa, his blanket slipping off him in the process. It landed on somebody's face, Jon had bigger issues than figuring out who’s face.

“I’m sorry,” Martin whispered and buried his head in his hands.

“ _ Hey, you’re fine _ ,” Jon said and turned his volume down low, “ _ You’re fine, you’ll be fine _ .”

Martin just shook his head to that. He had a vague look on his face, and he stared off into space blankly. After a few minutes of hazy silence, he stood up. “I’m going to the toilet.” he announced in a monotone.

Martin walked away and Jon had a bit of a minor crisis. Martin left the tape behind, which was usually a pretty good sign that Martin wanted some alone time. Jon didn’t begrudge him his desire for alone time, so usually he respected that.

But, at the same time, Martin shouldn’t be alone right now. For the past week, every time he’d stopped to think about what actually happened, what was to come, he changed the topic to this discussion. Jon had let him, because it was a good conversation to have.

Now all the thoughts of what had happened and what was to come had hit him at once. Now, Martin was having a minor crisis in the toilet.

Martin would come out when he was ready, Jon decided. He didn’t need Jon to hover over his shoulder at all times, as much as Jon would like to.

He took an inventory of the room to distract himself. Martin had been sleeping in the big chair, which was now left vacant. Melanie and Georgie were passed out on top of each other on the couch. Past-Jon and Past-Martin were asleep on the two seater. If Jon could snicker, he absolutely would, they were piled on top of each other. He anticipated lots of blushing and stuttering come morning.

Sasha was asleep on a pile of cushions and an old, mostly deflated bean bag chair. Jon Knew she had debated just going to sleep in her bed, but ultimately decided it wasn’t a sleepover unless everyone was passed out everywhere. She was the one with a blanket on her face, now.

Tim was asleep on the table, with a couple of cushions and blankets. This wasn’t too unusual for Tim, really, he liked to fall asleep in the wildest places possible. One time, back in Research, Jon found him sleeping on top of a shelf in a storage closet.

(It was a part of a game he and his brother had when they were children-)

That was an invasion of privacy.

Sasha rolled over, pulled her blanket closer to herself and mumbled nonsense under her breath. Jon would have written that off as just people moving in their sleep, but at the same time Georgie and Melanie shifted to be more properly cuddling than just sleeping on the same couch.

The temperature was eighteen celsius and dropping. That’s probably not a good sign for the lonely-aligned person having an existential crisis in the toilet.

Tim woke up by the time the temperature reached fifteen degrees, nearly rolling off the table in his groggy confusion.

“Why’s it so cold?” he asked, though Jon may not have been able to make out the words without the Beholding’s help. Tim sat up with his legs dangling and the blanket wrapped around him as tight as it would go.

(That’s not actually how a blanket works, pulling it tighter won’t work at all. Especially not this cold. Adding more layers would work better.)

“ _ Ah, Tim? Tim? _ ” Jon waited until he was sure he had Tim’s fully, albeit slow, attention.

“Yeas, wassup?”

“ _ Could you check in the toilet for me? _ ” Jon asked.

“Did some’un start a blizzard in there or something?”

“ _ Perhaps,” _ Jon said, “ _ Martin’s in there - my Martin - and I think he’s having some… mental distress?” _

Tim understood that, and he woke up, “Martin’s crying in the toilet again?” he stood up and started walking over, stumbling the first couple steps then gaining his balance. He cursed after a couple steps and looked to steal another blanket off of somebody, but didn’t have the heart to. “And that’s what’s making it so cold?”

“ _ Yes, probably.” _ Jon said, “ _ It’s a side effect of the Lonely. Martin had a… really close encounter with it, and that sort of thing tends to linger.” _

“That’s the one you called supernatural depression, right?” Tim stole a jacket from Sasha’s hallway.

“ _ Among other things.” _

“Why didn’t you say something earlier?” Tim wasn’t quite accusing, but he wasn’t awake enough to craft his tone into something gentle. Tim picked up the tape and took it with him.

“ _ It was a really close, really unpleasant experience.” _ Jon said, “ _ Martin does not like talking about it. At all. It was a rough time.” _

Tim hummed and knocked on the bathroom door. After a few moments of plummeting temperatures, he knocked again. “Hey man, you decent?”

“I’m fine,” Martin said, sounding a bit more distant than just being on the other side of a door would entail. “You can go back to sleep, alright?”

“Yeah, I’d love to, but it’s kinda cold as shit out here,” Tim said.

The temperature dropped a few more degrees very quickly. “Oh.” Martin said. “Sorry.”

“What, ah damn it.” Tim took a step back from the door. He made a face, and Jon knew it was directed at him.

“ _ You’re fine, _ ” Jon told him. “ _ Martin, can you hear me?” _

There was a small grunt. That was a yes, then.

“ _ Can you come out here then?”  _ Jon asked, “ _ Just sit with everyone.” _

“No, I don’t think I will.” Martin said, “I don’t want to make everyone cold.”

Jon wanted to (gently) hit Tim. “ _ You won’t,” _ he said.

“Heck, we could make a thing of it,” Tim said, “Get out some hot cocoa and winter clothes in the summer. Could be fun.”

“ _ Hiding isn’t going to help it.” _

“Fine,” Martin grumbled and the door creaked open. He looked quite annoyed, standing there with his arms crossed. That was actually a good sign; Jon would have been more concerned if Martin looked blank.

Martin sat back down on the couch, and pulled the tape recorder into his lap. He sat still after that, not doing anything.

“ _ You can go back to sleep, Tim,” _ Jon said.

Tim looked a bit wary. “You sure?” he asked.

Martin probably still looked a bit of a state, sitting with a vague look in his eyes and not moving at all. But this was fine, he was out and interacting, he just needed a bit of time for everything to come back online.

“ _ Yes.” _ Jon said, “ _ Thank you.” _

“Yeah,” Martin said, staring into and through the coffee table. “Thanks, Tim.”

“ _ What, I don’t get a thanks?” _ Jon asked gently, ready to backtrack if Martin didn’t catch the joke immediately.

His face twitched, something that maybe could have been called a smile. That was a win, then. “You have to be here,” he said, then he hummed and pulled the tape closer to him.

“ _ I choose to be here.” _

Sometime during that exchange (Jon Knew exactly when, but he wasn’t paying attention to that) Tim went back to sleep. The temperature in the room started to rise. Jon played crackling fire and low rain sounds until Martin fell asleep again. This time, there was no tug for a shared dream.

That’s fine. Martin’s allowed to have alone time.

Besides, it was always so fun to watch Martin sleep.

And not in a creepy way.

(He hoped.)

* * *

When everyone woke up for real, later in the morning, they came to the general consensus that that was fun, but they’d all like to go home rather than linger. So they did.

(Part of that was influenced by past-Jon and past-Martin’s absolutely mortified faces when they woke up. Tim and Sasha were texting each other about it for the rest of the day.)

_ So, _ Jon asked later, headphones in and Georgie off recording for her show.  _ Are we going to talk about that? _

“About what?” Martin asked, playing stupid. He had a book in front of him, but as soon as this conversation started he got distracted from it.

(Jon Knew it had an unsatisfying ending, but he’d let Martin figure that out for himself.)

_ The mild attack you had in Sasha’s toilet? _

“I’m fine now,” Martin said, “I just got caught up in my own thoughts for a bit. Sorry. Thanks for helping me out.”

_ What, did you expect me to just let you have a crisis alone? _ Jon asked,  _ And it’s okay if you want to talk about it a bit more. You’re under a lot of stress right now, trying to protect everyone, functionally all by yourself.  _

“I’m not all by myself.” Martin said.

_ That’s why I said functionally. _ Jon sighed,  _ I can’t really help you from here. Support and tell you what’s going on, yeah, but I can’t get up and start spraying worms with you. _

“I know,” Martin said, “And I knew that going into this, too. I’m just a bit tired. I think some downtime will do me good.”

_ Alright, I think so too. _ Jon said,  _ But tell me before it gets that bad in the future, okay? _

“I didn’t exactly have much warning,” Martin said. Jon crackled disapprovingly. “But fine, I will.”

_ At least things should be calm for a bit, _ Jon said,  _ I think the next thing we really have to think of is the Unknowing, which we could probably ignore. _

“Unless Daisy gets all murder-y on us.”

_ Can you please stop actively sabotaging my attempts to comfort you? _

“Alright,” Martin laughed.

* * *

Martin went back to the Archives on Monday morning. It felt weird, riding the tube and commuting in rather than just strolling in from the tunnels. At the very least, he got to spend more of Peter’s money.

Georgie hadn’t mentioned how long he was allowed to stay with her, but she didn’t seem to be in a rush to kick him out or anything. Besides, he hadn’t realized how much he hated sleeping on an air mattress on the floor until he slept in a real bed again.

Everyone else was already there, sitting on desks and chairs in ways they weren’t supposed to be used, clearly waiting for him.

“Hello,” he said, “Are we going to have another debrief?”

“I have decided I do not trust you.” Past-Jon said.

_ Christ, what now? _

“We’re trying to convince him otherwise.” Tim said.

Martin took a deep breath before responding. “Well, you haven’t come at me with a hatchet yet, so I assume you don’t distrust me entirely. Which part do you not trust?”

“Your story,” Jon said, “It’s too perfect, you’re hiding something.”

“I give you that it was a short version of the story, and we skipped over many details,” Martin said, “But I did not lie or purposefully hide something. And, I assure you, it’s not all perfect.”

“You got to live happily ever after,” Past-Jon said, “How much more perfect can you get?”

“After the things we saw and did?” Martin asked, “Far from perfect. We had to kill a friend. Well, I didn’t particularly like her, but she didn’t deserve that.”

“You killed somebody?” Past-Martin managed to ask.

“Yeah, several people actually. Well, I was more moral support/cheerleader type thing. Most of the people deserved it, but she…” Martin trailed off and shrugged. “She didn’t want to live like that, and we couldn’t just let her suffer.”

_ Unplug me, I want to be a part of this discussion. _

“Alright,” Martin said, tugging out the cord and winding it up nice.

“ _ Would visual proof convince you?” _ Jon asked, static crackling around his voice.

“A visual proof?” Sasha asked, “What do you mean?”

“Yeah,” Martin agreed, sliding into his seat, “How do you mean?”

“ _ I have an idea, _ ” Jon said, “ _ But, I don’t want to go through all the effort of hunting the thing down if it won’t even convince him. So, will visual evidence convince you?” _

“Perhaps,” Past-Jon stuck his nose up. “What is this visual evidence?”

“ _ In Artefact Storage, there is a cursed mirror. Looking in it shows, at least in the statement I recall, someone who’s all eyes following you around. Well, and intensely terrifying paranoia.” _

“So you think that if we got that mirror, it’d be you in the reflection?” Martin asked. He looked a bit faint at that prospect. Probably, it was because he was so used to having their own little world. 

“So you can interact with cursed items? Like the Leitners?” Sasha leaned forward.

“ _ Uh, I don’t know about Leitners in general,” _ Jon answered, “ _ But most eye-related artefacts I probably should be able to interact with in some way, yes.” _

He’d never imagined Jon could interact with other artefacts, though it made so much sense to hear it all spelled out.

“ _ I think I could, yes.” _ Jon said. “ _ So, how does that sound to you? _ ”

“How could we trust this artefact?”

“ _ Look,” _ Jon said, “ _ At some point you’re just going to have to make the conscious decision to trust something. I could play you as many audio clips from my reserves as you like, but I definitely don’t think you’ll believe that. So take what I am giving you, and learn that most people are not actively out to get you.” _

“Woah, woah,” Tim said, “I feel like we’re all skipping over the intense paranoia part,” he stood up, like having a head and shoulders advantage over everyone else would help emphasise his point.

“ _ Yeah, that, _ ” Jon said, “ _ It probably won’t affect you too bad. You’re already in the Archives, after all.” _

Sasha bit her lip, “You say that like we belong to it?”

“Essentially,” Martin said, “And, short of gouging your eyes out or murdering Jon, there’s not really anything you can do to get out of it, so don’t worry about it.”

“Murdering me?” past-Jon asked.

“ _ No wonder you guys never get the answers you want,” _ Jon said, “ _ You can’t go two sentences without changing the subject.” _

“It’s not quite that bad,” Martin said to him, “And yes. If the Archivist is killed, all the assistants are released. Don’t worry, killing you is not on the docket. Though, I wonder if he even counts as the Archivist at this point.”

“ _ He did sign the contract, though I’m not sure how much that counts for.” _

“So, this ‘belonging’ or whatever shields us from the Fears?” Tim asked, dragging them back on topic.

“Not in general, no.” Martin said, “It does give you some level of insulation from the Eye itself, though. It’s like how you can’t tickle yourself, the Eye can’t harvest fear from you.”

“Harvest fear?” past-Martin asked.

“Yeah,” Martin shrugged, “I’ve been saying that the Entities eat fear. They do that by making you scared then harvesting that fear.”

“ _ So, all that is to say, using this mirror as a form of proof should not have any adverse side effects,” _ Jon said, addressing the actual core of the question at long last, “ _ Sorry we cannot submit the idea to an ethics board ahead of time for approval, but we make do with what we’ve got.” _

“Okay,” Sasha said, “Let’s see this mirror,”

“Great,” Martin smiled in a very false way, “Can you go get it from Artefact Storage for us?” he gave her all the identifying information she needed for it.

“This is what I get for working in Artefact storage for three weeks four years ago, isn’t it,” she muttered, “Fine, yes, I will.”

She came back down the stairs a few minutes later, holding a parcel wrapped with brown paper and tied off with string. “So,” she said, “They made me swear on my favorite pen that I wouldn’t look at the mirror before they gave it to me.”

“They know which pen’s your favorite?” Tim asked.

“No, they just assumed I have a favorite pen.” Sasha put down the mirror.

“Which one?”

“The blue one, that I tied a bunch of tape around so that none of you would steal it.”

“Oh great, we can start now.” Martin said, picking up the mirror and unwrapping it. He stood up and angled himself so that none of them could see the mirror.

“What are you doing?” Past-Jon asked.

“Just checking to make sure it actually works,” Martin said, “I would feel silly if we went through all that effort for nothing, though.”

“ _ It’ll work.”  _ Jon said, “ _ I can Feel the mirror.” _

Martin pulled the last of the paper off and smiled. “And there you are.”

Jon was standing behind him, or at least a shadowy outline of Jon was. The figure was nearly featureless, save for a giant pair of eyes, and gaps in the fog where his scars were.

“ _ Hm, _ ” the tape crackled louder than usual, and the shadow tilted its head. The eyes blinked slowly, and suddenly it looked more like a cat than an ominous monster. “ _ It’s weird. Feels a bit like controlling a video game character.” _

The figure held up its hand, the one that was mostly gone from Desolation scars. “ _ Interesting. It treats my Marks oddly. Like oil and water.” _

“Not uncomfortable?” Martin asked.

“ _ No, not at all. _ ” the figure in the mirror shook its head haltingly, like trying to get used to the motion again. “ _ I was mostly talking visually. I still don’t feel anything.” _

“So do we get to see?” past-Jon asked.

“Of course,” Martin passed the mirror to Sasha, the one standing closest to him. “That’s unsettling.” she decided after a moment of staring at it.

“Not in a supernatural paranoia way, right?” Tim asked.

“No,” Sasha said, and tilted the mirror. No matter what angle she held the mirror at the eyes followed her, “Just in an uncanny valley way.” the figure tilted its head, which did not help.

“ _ That’s a bit funny, actually.” _ Jon said, “ _ Uncanny valley would fall more under the Stranger. _ ”

“We’re inadvertently feeding the wrong Entity.” Martin agreed.

“Really?” Tim’s head shot up.

“ _ Yes and no,” _ Jon said, “ _ Because that fear is present, technically yes, but it’s not intense enough to really count.” _

“Here, look,” Sasha passed the mirror to him, and he also began to wiggle it around.

“You’re right,” he said. “It is a bit unsettling, but not outright terrifying.”

Tim passed it along to past-Martin. past-Jon got tired of waiting his turn and stood up to look over past-Martin’s shoulder.

“What are all the dots?” past-Jon asked.

“ _ Marks.” _ Jon said, “ _ Essentially, a place where an avatar or Entity hurt me bad enough, usually to the extent that I feared for my life.” _

“Oh,” Past-Martin said, “That sounds unpleasant.”

“There’s so many,” past-Jon said.

“But everything wrapped up perfectly, right?” Martin asked him. Past-Jon just frowned.

“ _ I’ll walk you through them,” _ Jon said, “ _ Hold the mirror so everyone can see. _ ”

Everyone shuffled around to make that happen. “ _ First, these dot-things were Jane Prentiss. Tim had some, too. We both got wormed really bad. Then we nearly drowned in CO2, but that’s different.” _

The figure held up its arm, the hand a blurry mess and a smaller scar higher up his arm. “ _ This is where I shook hands with a Desolation avatar. She said she’d give me information for it. I couldn’t use the hand for like a year, but I did get the information, for all the good it did me. _

_ “The scar higher on my arm is from where Michael, the Distortion, stabbed me. It didn’t like me asking it questions. _

_ “The scar on my collarbone is where Melanie stabbed me. She was well on her way to becoming a Slaughter avatar at the time. _

_ “The slit throat was a fun one. That was caused by Daisy, the cop lady. She didn't like me talking.” _ the shadow stopped moving and blinked slowly again. “ _ Is that good enough for everybody? _ ”

“All of that happened within the span of about two years, by the way.” Martin said, “And it doesn’t include the mental scars that didn’t leave physical marks.”

“ _ Or the rib thing.” _ Jon said, “ _ Which was very physical, but didn’t scar.” _

“Yikes.” Sasha summarized. “And that’s what caused the ritual you were talking about the other day?”

“It was more the prep work that went into starting the ritual.” Martin said, “But yes, essentially.”

The figure in the mirror disappeared suddenly. “ _ Lionel Elliot incoming. _ ” Said Jon.

“Alright,” Martin reconnected the headphones, and smiled at the staff, “You all can go back to what you were doing.”

Footsteps came down the stairs then, and Martin turned around with a bit of a smile. “Dr. Elliot, yes?”

“Ah, yes.” he said. He looked a bit awkward, which was understandable. He had just walked in on a kind of tense situation, after all. “I’m here to make a statement?”

“Of course,” Martin said, “Right this way.” he guided him into the second office. The conversation was effectively ended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just let them sleep - I, the person writing this, say.
> 
> Also, there won't be a new chapter next week, I have completely blown through my buffer and I feel the quality has gone down because of it. Next chapter will be uploaded on the 22!
> 
> Hope yall enjoyed!


	15. Squad Goals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not paranoia if they're really out to get you.  
> (And they're totally out to get me, I swear. Look, I have a whole red-string board to prove it.)

“You need to calm down.” Sasha said, leaning against the door to Jon’s office. She had slipped in shortly after everyone broke from the earlier conversation, and quietly shut the door behind her.

“What do you mean?” Jon asked quietly. The second office, where the time traveler was taking the doctor’s statement, shared a wall with his office. There was a window connecting the two as well, but it had been blocked off by blackout curtains from the other side.

“How suspicious you are of the time travelers, you need to calm down.” Sasha said, “You’re too loud about it.”

“I’m sorry I refuse to just roll over and take everything they tell us at face value.” Jon frowned, “Their story doesn’t add up, and I don’t see why everyone is so eager to trust them.”

“That’s not what I said.” Sasha crossed her legs, “I said you were too obvious about it. I don’t necessarily trust them either.”

“You don’t?”

“No, it’s like you said,” Sasha spun in the seat a bit, then forced herself to stop. “Their story doesn’t really add up well. And a few things that have happened just don’t make sense if you look at it logically.”

“Like what?” Jon frowned. Apparently, he had not noticed the same inconsistency she had. That was fair, she’d only noticed it because Michael had pointed it out to her.

“Blackwood was surprised to see Timothy Hodge at the restaurant and at the Institute. That means that, somehow, in the last timeline, we managed to deal with him before he became a problem.”

“And if we were able to deal with him with virtually no information before,” Jon caught on, “Why weren’t we able to take him on this time. Why didn’t Blackwood just quietly take care of it on his own, if he’s so intent on keeping our exposure down.”

“Exactly,” Sasha said and smiled, “It makes no sense. He said he forgot but the man has, like, contingencies on top of contingencies.”

“And this seems like a very large thing to be slipping through the cracks.” Jon continued with the thought process.

“And then there was the thing with the delivery man.”

“What delivery man?” Jon frowned, “I don’t remember that.”

“Oh yeah, you weren’t in the room for that one,” Sasha said. She debated for a moment whether or not to tell him, then decided he should know. “It was a little while back now, before the worms, a delivery guy came in looking for you.”

“Looking for me?” Jon looked confused, “Why?”

“He said he had a package for you, well, for ‘The Archivist’.” Sasha did air quotes around the word, “But Blackwood intercepted him. Then they talked about a coffin. I looked into it, and I think it may be the same coffin as in statement… 9982211. It was one of the true statements we looked into before the time travelers arrived.”

Jon thought about it for a long second, “Where he froze the key in ice?”

“Yes, that one,” Sasha nodded, “Blackwood gave the delivery man an address to send the coffin to.”

“Why would he want to send a haunted coffin to somebody?” Jon asked, “And who would he even send it to?”

“I have no clue,” Sasha said. “I’ve been looking into it, but I haven’t really gotten too far. I remember the logo of the shipping company, but not the name. And the only thing I remember about the delivery man is that he was definitely faking his accent. If I had to guess from Blackwood’s Entity list, I’d call it a Stranger.”

“Okay, keep looking into that,” Jon said. “But, if you don’t trust the time travelers, why do you still hang out with them?”

“They’re more likely to get chatty if we’re friends,” Sasha said. “And besides, at the very least I do trust that that is, at least somewhat, a future Martin. I do think something major happened to cause a personality shift, but I can see how it would be Martin.”

“Or it could just be something just very good at pretending to be him.”

“That too,” Sasha acknowledged. “But that’s just what my gut is telling me, and it hasn’t led me wrong yet.”

“I trust your judgement, Sasha.” Jon said, “And, you mentioned this delivery man had a package for me?”

“Yeah,” Sasha said, “Blackwood hid it in his desk. He wouldn’t tell us what it was.”

“Let’s try and get our hands on it, whatever it is.” Jon said, “Do you think Tim or Martin would help us research this?”

“I think it’s best not to tell them,” Sasha said, “Tim likes the idea of the fun, found family, and Martin’s too much of a people pleaser.”

“Not to mention I don’t trust Martin to keep a secret as big as this,” Jon shook his head. “So it’s just us two on this.”

“We can do it.” Sasha said.

“Yes.” Jon said, “I think we can.”

* * *

“What are you holding?” Tim asked when Blackwood came out of the second office, holding a baggie as far away from himself as possible. 

“Bone Apple Teeth.”

“What?”

“Bone Apple Teeth.” Blackwood held the baggie out, “You can look for yourself, though I’d recommend you didn’t.”

Tim looked in, then immediately recoiled. “I don’t know what you expected.” Blackwood said.

“Why is it so… juicy?” Tim asked, grimacing and distancing himself from the bag. He held a hand to his nose, although the smell wasn’t really that bad.

Blackwood shrugged, “Your guess is as good as mine, honestly. I’m just gonna go burn this.” he nodded his head to the back corner of the stacks, towards the trapdoor.

“Will it even catch?”

Blackwood shrugged again. “If it doesn’t, I’ll just get rid of it some other way.”

Blackwood left, then came back after quite a bit of time. Tim had already settled back into his seat, then perked up again when Blackwood emerged. “Everything alright?” Tim asked when he saw Blackwood’s frown.

“Have you been in the tunnels?”

“No, that place is creepy.” Tim answered immediately. “I can’t really speak for the others, but I’m pretty sure they haven’t either. If they did, they managed to be extremely sneaky about it. Why?” 

“Someone else has been down there,” Blackwood said. “And they weren’t clean about it, they left a bunch of detritus.”

“Is that something we need to be concerned about?”

Blackwood slid into his seat, “Maybe, but probably not.” he started shuffling with papers and things on his desk. “Maybe carry some mace, if it makes you feel better. Most of the really dangerous stuff won’t be deterred by mace, though.”

“If you say so,” Tim said.

“Just keep an eye on it,” Blackwood decided at last. “Tell me if you see anything weird, or anything shows up or goes missing mysteriously.”

“You got it,” Tim said.

* * *

A few hours later, Martin knocked on Jon’s office door. “Uh, Jon?” he asked as he opened it. Jon was sitting there, invested in his work in a way that he hadn’t been since the time travelers showed up. “Is everything okay? Usually you’d be looking to leave by now.”

They’d finally gotten around to getting Martin a key to Jon’s flat, so it wasn’t that Martin needed Jon there to go home. Hell, he could even go back to his own flat if he wasn’t so paralyzed with terror at the mere thought. Jon didn’t seem to be in any rush to kick Martin out, but he felt more and more awkward staying there with every day that passed.

“Oh, sorry.” Jon quickly alt-tabbed away from whatever screen he was looking at. The motion was very clear, even if Jon wasn’t acting so suspicious, but Martin wasn’t going to say anything about it. “I just, ah, fell into a research hole. Didn’t notice the time.” he made no move to stand up.

“What on?”

“Pardon?”

“The research hole?” Martin frowned. Jon was acting extremely jumpy.

“Ah, logistics.”

“Logistics?”

“Yeah, and like, supply lines,” Jon said, “It’s actually more intricate than you might think.”

“Okay, then.” that didn’t quite sound right - not that Martin was doubting the intricacy of supply chains - rather he was doubting Jon’s interest in the subject. “Well, I’m leaving now, so.”

“Alright.” Jon smiled. Then realized that Martin probably wanted something more. “I’ll be coming along soon, I just need to reach a stopping point.”

“Okay,” Martin said, “I was just making sure you don’t accidentally pull an all-nighter,” he laughed kinda awkwardly to make it seem more like a joke than true concern.

“I, yes, Martin.” Jon said, “I appreciate your concern.”

“Of course,” Martin said, then left. He said his farewells to Sasha on his way out as well.

Jon pulled back up the list on his computer. He’d found a list of all active shipping companies, and was comparing the list against the list of names Blackwood had told them to avoid. So far, no dice.

“What did Martin want?” Sasha asked, now in the doorway.

“Ah, just to make sure I wasn’t planning on staying up all night.” Jon kept scrolling, but nothing popped out to him.

“What are you looking at?” she came around his desk to look over his shoulder.

“Just a list of currently active shipping companies,” Jon said, “I’m comparing the names up against the list of persona non grata Blackwood gave us. Hopefully it’ll be obvious.”

“That’s a pretty good idea.” Sasha said, “But what makes you think it’s a currently operating shipping company?”

“Well, I’ve got to start somewhere.” Jon said.

“Let’s split the list in half, we each do a google deep dive on the person.” Sasha said, “Compare notes later.”

“Okay,” Jon grabbed the list and stood up, “How do you want to split it?”

“The list is, what, eight pages?” Sasha said, “Just four pages each. Let’s photocopy it, just in case Blackwood wants to see it for whatever reason.”

“And we’ll keep the copied version, this time?” he grinned.

“Don’t remind me,” Sasha was out the door first, “That was such an embarrassing mistake.”

Out on the main floor, Jon looked at Blackwood’s desk. “Do you think that package is still in there?”

Sasha glanced over her shoulder. The photocopier was ancient, so it took a hot minute to power up. It would take even longer to get through all eight pages. “I never saw him take it out.”

Jon rooted through the drawers for a bit, and came up with an unmarked paper wrapped parcel. “Well that just looks like a bomb,” Sasha said.

“Sure does,” Jon said and took the scissors off the desk and cut the package open. “It’s a lighter.”

“A lighter?”

“Yeah, just a normal, zippo lighter.” Jon turned it over. There was nothing obviously hostile about it, it was a bit beat up and the design was starting to flake off but it was normal. “Wonder what’s so weird about it.” the spider web pattern flashed briefly in the light. Unfortunately, neither of them noticed that.

“Maybe it goes off at random and burns things,” Sasha suggests.

“That’s not so bad,” Jon flicked the lighter on, and it worked exactly as he expected it to. He flicked it off, and the flame obediently extinguished. He tucked it away into his pocket.

“Done,” Sasha pulled the last page off the copier and started shaking it around. The paper was still hot and the ink needed a moment to dry. She split the stack of pages in half, then they closed up the Archives.

* * *

“Getting the Archivist involved, are you?” Michael was waiting in her flat, lounging across her sofa.

“He’s perfectly capable of helping me research,” Sasha said, “Feet of the sofa, please.”

Michael looked incredulous for a moment before he actually complied. His feet - and only his feet - slid to the floor. Unpleasantly. But, that was technically what Sasha had asked.

“An interesting choice.” Michael said at last, once the silence was enough to get on Sasha’s nerves. “I am curious to see how it works out for you.”

“Look,” Sasha sat down in her chair with a huff. “I’m not going to understand what you mean by all these comments until I understand your personal beef with the Archivist.”

“We’ve been over this one, little Observer,” Michael’s head swayed on his shoulders, “I have no personal beef with the Archivist because I have no personhood.”

“As I understand it, you have a lot of people in you.”

“And you eat a lot of beef, yet you would be offended if I call you a cow.”

Sasha hummed. Then she tilted her head, “Anyways, from what I’ve heard it’s Gertrude you have problems with, not Jon.”

“All Archivists are the same.” he said without the playful lilt to his voice.

“How?” Sasha pushed, “What is it about Archivists that make you hate them?”

Michael pursed his lips - for once, a perfectly human movement. “They ask me too many questions.” he said pointedly.

Sasha didn’t quite believe that, half of what she does is ask him questions, after all. But she’s willing to let the topic drop for now. She could also admit that Michael scared her at that moment. “What do you know of the Unknowing?” she asked instead.

“Well, by definition, it cannot be known, can it? If it is unknown.” Michael said. Sasha had trouble reading his emotions, but she’d almost call him relieved. “Rather like me in that regard, yet different. I wonder where the line is drawn.”

“It’s easy, you make my eyes hurt, they make my brain hurt.” Sasha said. “All I can remember is that stupid, fake accent.”

“Still hung up on the Delivery Men, are you?”

“I remember the company logo, just not the name.” then she paused, “Plural?”

“You are really bad at noticing plurals, aren’t you.” Michael laughed, sounding like fingertips on a dry erase board (one of Sasha’s personal pet peeves), “Of course it’s plural, those two are always together.”

“Do they have something to do with the Unknowing?”

“They are Strangers, aren’t they?” Michael slid off the couch, leaving his grin behind, “What’s got you so interested in the Unknowing?”

“It feels like the next major breaking point, doesn’t it?” Sasha thought it was obvious, “That’s when the next big thing is bound to happen.”

“One of the most curious things I have learned from watching you humans,” Michael shook his head - or spun it a full 360 degrees, rather - “Is that you always manage to do the wildest thing imaginable. Straight to the nuclear option.”

“I’m trying to avoid that, thank you very much.”

“Are you?”

* * *

Blackwood came to work the next day armed with a suitcase. “Planning on going somewhere?” Tim asked.

“I’m making a magical journey across town,” Blackwood said, “No, I’m just moving out of the tunnels more properly. Georgie said I can stay for awhile.”

“That’s nice of her,” Martin said.

“Yes, and I would feel a bit more comfortable staying out of the tunnels for the foreseeable future,” Blackwood said, “That goes for the rest of you, too.” his eyes lingered on Sasha and Jon more than the others. Fair enough, that. They were the two who had demonstrated a lack of desire to follow orders.

“So you’re fine with monsters and murderers, but draw the line at litterers?” Tim joked.

“Litterers?” Jon asked.

“I don’t like that someone I don’t know is poking around in the tunnels,” Blackwood said, “Probably Daisy. Which isn’t a comforting thought, really.”

“There’s been someone in the tunnels?” Jon asked.

“Yeah, they made a bit of a mess about it,” Blackwood said. “And before you panic about it; don’t. It’s probably harmless, just for the best if I’m not living in the tunnels while an unknown is poking around there.”

“But if they’re in the tunnels, that means they could be in the Archives,” Jon said, “Forgive me for being a bit concerned.”

“They could also walk in through the front doors,” Blackwood said, “Who's going to stop them, Rosie? This place isn’t exactly secure.”

Jon froze at that comment. “Should we get the locks changed?”

“If it makes you feel more comfortable, then sure.” Blackwood shrugged. “You could also get a padlock for the trapdoor, it’s what we did last time. Though the padlock was more to keep you out of the tunnels. Most of the really dangerous folks aren’t deterred by doors and locks.”

“It would help my peace of mind.” Jon glared at him.

“Then fine,” Blackwood held up his hands in surrender, “I’m not here to fight you on this. If it makes you more comfortable, then go ahead.”

“Have fun getting your stuff,” Sasha said to diffuse the situation, and Blackwood took the excuse to disappear into the tunnels with his bag.

“Calm down, boss.” Tim said, waving his hand.

“There is an unknown entity, prowling in the tunnels beneath us, I don’t see how you can expect me to calm down.”

“Well, it’s like he said.” Tim shrugged, “Anything scary could just as easily come in through the front door. What defenses do we really have?”

“I don’t like it.” Jon said.

“And what are you going to do about it?” Tim asked. “Take the monsters on with a lead pipe?”

Jon wanted to argue, but even he could see how futile that endeavor would be. He doubted he would even be able to lift a lead pipe, much less do any real damage with it. “I’ll get a padlock for the trapdoor.” he decided.

“That’s fair, actually.” Martin said.

Jon rolled his eyes, “Just get back to work.”

Sasha came into his office a few minutes later. “Look, if you’re here to lecture me on the futility of my situation, or how I should just let it rest, yes I-”

“Breekon and Hope.” she cut him off.

“Pardon?”

“The shipping company.” Sasha pulled out a printed logo, “The ones who delivered the parcel.”

“How did you find that?” Jon asked, “My list was alphabetic, it should have been on top,”

“They’re not a current delivery company,” Sasha said, “And, apparently, Alfred Breekon died in 1996. But, we have already established that these are identity-stealing monsters, so that’s not really surprising.”

“Fair enough,” Jon said, then frowned. “Now, what exactly does this tell us?”

“Not much yet, I don’t think.” Sasha said, “There was a phone number, and one of the delivery men did pick up, but I hung up right away. It was the right guy, super fake accent. We might find out more while looking through the lists?”

Jon grimaced, “That was irresponsible.”

“What, prank calling a packing company?” Sasha said, “I didn’t give them enough information to figure anything out. Besides, tell me you wouldn’t have done the same.”

Jon did have to concede her that point, he probably would have done the same. Just now he had enough distance to realize that it was a bad idea, actually. “Well, let’s just assume they know your phone number now, and let’s not use your cell to do anything like that in the future.”

Sasha rolled her eyes; there was such a thing as being over-cautious. “Did you find anything on your list?”

“A few social media profiles, a few obituaries.” Jon said.

“I’ll set up a secret dropbox for us to share files and stuff,” Sasha said, picking the paper with the logo back up off the desk. “It’ll probably be more secure than waiting for them two to go down into the tunnels.”

“Can’t they just spy in on whatever we’re doing online?”

“I was thinking that too, but Blackwood’s computer is basically a brick half the time,” Sasha said, “Technology just really hates them, like how the true statements wouldn’t record digitally.”

“So you think that because it’s all digital they won’t notice?” Jon made sure he understood.

“If they do bring it up, we say we’re entitled to our privacy.” Sasha hesitated, “And if it does come to that, you are not to say a word.”

“What? I can lie?”

“No you absolutely cannot.” Sasha said. “Why do you think we all believed when you were telling the truth in research? It’s because we All Knew when you were lying.”

“That’s just not fair.” Jon gave up.

“It’s true, though.”

“Alright, fine, I’ll let you handle the alibis.” Jon said.

“Thank you,” Sasha smiled.

“But give me that paper.” he said, pointing at the printed logo.

“Why?” she asked, “I’m just going to take it to the paper shredder.”

“I’ve got a perfectly good lighter here,” he held up the lighter they’d liberated from Blackwood’s desk, “I’ve been wanting to test it out. See if it makes inanimate objects scream or something.”

Sasha sighed and handed him the paper, “I’ll have you know, this is exactly why I left Artefact Storage. They always wanted me to test the haunted stuff.”

“You can leave if you want,” Jon offered, and waited to give her a chance. She sat down instead.

He flicked the lighter on and held it to the corner of the paper. It caught and the fire crawled up the page, eventually forcing him to drop it in the wire bin. The paper smoldered a bit, then was reduced to ash.

“That looked normal to me.” Jon said when it was just faintly crackling embers.

“I agree.” Sasha said. She took the lighter from him and turned it over in her hands. “Is this really what he was hiding? Seems a lot of trouble to go through just for a little lighter. A lot of drama, too.” she tossed it back.

Jon caught it with only a minor scramble. “Well, in any case, this stays between us.”

“Of course, I’m not stupid.” Sasha rolled her eyes.

Then Blackwood left the tunnels and they went back to acting like normal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back with our usually scheduled time travel! I've built my buffer back up some (just in time for school to wipe me out again lol) and i'm happy with it!
> 
> Fun fact (maybe): there's an irl person name Michael in my creative writing group, and he's the most chaotic person i know. some of distortion's dialog comes directly from things the real person has just said unprompted.


	16. Moving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> making plans and moving

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you ever wonder, 'hey, why didn't tape!Jon notice that sooner?' he was probably making heart-eyes at Martin. as is his right.  
> (There's also the fact that he's actively trying to respect other people's privacy. but that's not as funny.)

“This is disgusting,” Martin held the bag as far away from himself as possible.

_ What, did you think I made such a fuss over something that’s merely gross? _ Jon asked.

“It has just better catch fire well,” Martin said, “If I have to hang around with this any longer than I have to, I might vomit.”

_ Okay, now that’s a bit of an over-exaggeration. _

“Wanna bet?” Martin asked. The baggie of bone apple teeth oozed at him.

He went into the first little room in the tunnels he could find and lit the baggie on fire. He used a normal, benign lighter that he had bought in a five pack at the corner store, and luckily the bag caught and went up instantly. He dropped it on the stone floor and left it to burn on its own for a while.

Then he stepped into the hall and wandered right into a pile of soda cans and food wrappers. “You jinxed it by saying we wouldn’t have to deal with anything until the Unknowing.”

_ If anything, I think you jinxed it by being a downer. _ Jon said back.  _ If it’s any consolation, this looks like it’s probably just teenagers finding a place to hang out. _

“That doesn’t make me feel better,” Martin said, “If anything that makes it worse. I don’t need more things to worry about, like suddenly becoming side characters in a YA horror.”

_ Good point. _ Jon said, then hummed in his staticky way.  _ Logically, it’s probably Daisy? She was in here recently and she was making suspicious eyes at you. _

“But wouldn’t Daisy be cleaner than this?” Martin gestured at the pile of rubbish. “Unless she’s trying to play mind games with us.”

_ Okay, let’s not go down that thought spiral, _ Jon said,  _ can we just accept that it’s probably something unnatural that we need to look out for, but not be overly worried. _

“I love that explanation,” Martin laughed. He started walking in the direction of the Archives again, “Yeah, it’s probably just something supernatural. Jon, most things in my life are ‘just’ something supernatural.”

_ Exactly, _ and Jon had that lilt to his voice that meant he was joking,  _ so what’s one more? _

“You are ridiculous.”

* * *

Georgie was recording when they went back to her flat, which was shown by a red sticky note on her recording room door.

Martin just went and sat down at ‘his’ desk in ‘his’ room to work on thinking. He had a notebook open before him, because it was always easier to think with a notebook at hand. “So, I probably shouldn’t live in the tunnels full-time anymore.” he started.

_ Yeah, _ Jon agreed.  _ I wouldn’t feel comfortable with it. _

“And it’s probably more imminent than dealing with the Unknowing too.” Martin scribbled in his book as he talked, a scrawl that could generously be called messy handwriting. The only people who would ever need to read it were himself and his all-knowing partner.

_ So, our options are to start looking for a flat or talk to Georgie about staying here. _ Jon said.

“I feel like talking with Georgie is the best option,” Martin said, “Just because I don’t really want to answer too many questions, and I don’t want a flat I’m not familiar with.”

_ I agree, _ Jon said,  _ Though I can probably find us a flat if we need one. And if we ramp up the creepiness, they probably won’t ask too many questions. _ That last bit was only half a joke. It was a valid strategy available to them.

“We’ll save that for a worst-case scenario,” Martin agreed, scribbling that into his notebook. “Could you imagine if we were too good at it, and some poor sap came to the Institute to make a statement about us?”

_ Their face when they saw you there would be absolutely hilarious. _ Jon imagined it.

“No - well I mean, yes, it probably would - but we’ve only got a very tenuous bit of trust with your past-self there.” Martin groaned. “And I mean, good for him I’d be a bit concerned if he did trust us right off the bat, but. Ugh.”

_ We either have to lie or provide justifications for everything, _ Jon said,  _ all the while not looking suspicious and not making it look so interesting they poke their noses where they don’t belong. _

“Sometimes I think we should just, like, send them away for a day. Give them tickets to an escape room or lock them in a room with a bunch of puzzles.” he sighs. “Make our own escape room that’s purposefully designed so they can’t solve it.”

_ I’m on board for the first two, but that last one sounds a lot like abduction and holding hostages. _ Jon said. 

“Yeah, and who would they press charges against?” Martin asked, “Themselves? Their future-selves oh yeah also there’s some weird stuff going on?” Obviously, he thought that would be a deterrent to them contacting the police.

_ True, sounds like a pretty good way to get Daisy to kill you. _

“Dammit, you’re right.”

_ I’ll find us some good escape rooms. _ Jon said,  _ Ones that are far away, that lots of people don’t complete. Bring up the idea with Tim. _

“Yeah, he’s most likely to bully the rest of them into going.” Martin agreed. “The coffin’s in the storage unit, right?”

_ Yep, _ Jon said,  _ Breekon and Hope went straight there; they were glad to be rid of it. Why, what are you thinking? _

“Do you think we could feed the circus to the coffin? Or would it just spit them out again?”

Jon crackled in thought.  _ I’m not sure. I could see either way, but we can add it to the shortlist. _

Martin was about to answer, then he felt a little head butt at his calf. “Why hello to you too,” he looked down at the Admiral.

Martin, contrary to what most people would assume by looking at him, wasn’t much of a cat person. He just wasn’t super familiar with them, and found most of their body language confusing and irregular. 

To Jon’s dismay, the Admiral stoutly refused to go anywhere near the tape recorder. When they tried to sneak it close to him he reacted like one of those silly cat videos where a cucumber is placed behind a cat. He jumped several feet in the air and refused to leave his cat tree until Georgie pulled out the big guns - canned food.

The Admiral didn’t like Martin much either. It was harder to tell if he simply didn’t like a new person invading his home or if there was a more supernatural reason for it. Whatever the reason, it was apparently eclipsed by the fact that Martin had a nice lap, and Georgie was currently unavailable.

The Admiral grumbled and butt his head against Martin’s leg again.

“Okay, yes, fine,” Martin slid his seat away from the desk and let the Admiral hop up. He moved the tape recorder to be farther away from the Admiral at Jon’s request. Jon didn’t want to spook the cat, after all.

(Also, he liked seeing the Admiral in Martin’s lap. It was cute. If he had a camera, he’d have so many pictures.)

(A photographic memory just wasn’t the same.)

(A photographic memory can actually be somewhat traumatizing--) 

Martin pulled out his earbuds, because they were starting to get annoying, and it was fun to watch the Admiral’s ears twitch every time Jon said something. At the beginning he kept jumping up to go look for Jon, then grumbling angrily at Georgie when she couldn’t produce him. Now he barely looked around the room.

“Hey, is the little brat with you?” Georgie asked a few minutes later, when their discussion had moved from strategy to types of pasta.

The little brat himself answered, “ _ Yeah, what’s up?” _

“No, the furry one.”

“Fine, you caught me,” Martin spun in his seat with a big smile and the Admiral in his lap. He made sure to pet him like a cartoon villain. This, unfortunately, prompted the Admiral to leave his lap entirely.

“You two are insufferable,” Georgie said without missing a beat. “Anyways, I was just checking. It was too quiet for him to be up to any good.”

“He was just leeching off my body heat.” Martin said.

“ _ As cats are meant to do,” _

“As cats are meant to do.”

“Oh, of course,” Georgie agreed, and stepped aside so the cat in question could be where she was. “I’m thinking of getting take-out tonight, you two wanna join in?”

“Sure,” Martin said, “Whatever place you’re getting is fine,”

Georgie opened the app. “Wings sound good?”

“Yeah, medium heat?”

Georgie nodded and kept clicking around, “Ordered. Should be here in about twenty.”

“Pretty quick.” Martin said.

Georgie shrugged, “The benefits of not eating at normal people times, I guess.” that was true. It was only about four PM, before most adults considered eating. Georgie was a bit of a morning person, though, and Martin was willing to go along with it.

Martin waited until they were on the couch, watching recorded TV and eating before bringing it up. He’d always found that harder conversations were easier with food to lessen the blow. “Hey so, uh, you’ve been really nice letting us stay here and I just want to check in how we are for long term?”

Georgie nodded, but was mid-mouthful so she didn’t respond right away. “I mean, you’ve been a fine flatmate,” she said, “And I’m not really using that room, so I’m not opposed out of principle. I thought you were planning on going back to living in the murder tunnels?”

“Yeah, it looks like someone else beat me to it.” Martin said. “So I’m looking at other options.”

“Geez, I didn’t realize those tunnels would be such hot real estate,” Georgie joked. “Yeah, we can talk about you staying here long-term if you’d like.”

“Thanks,” Martin said, “I wasn’t really looking forward to having to involve more people in all this,” he waved his hand generally around him.

“I do have one main condition.” Georgie said, “All of your weird, dangerous stuff, stays out of my house. Other than Tape Boy over there, this is a supernatural-free zone, got it?”

“That’s fair, yes.” Martin nodded along.

“ _ We cannot guarantee that nothing will follow us home.” _ Jon said, “ _ But we will try our best. Do you want information to be need-to-know as well?” _

“I’d prefer that, yes.” Georgie nodded. “I trust you two to be good roommates, but I really don’t need to be involved in all of this - _ this _ , you get it?”

“Yeah, that’s perfectly understandable.” Martin said, “We will do our best to keep you as uninvolved as possible. On another note, I can pitch in with rent, if you’d like?”

Georgie frowned, “Are you on payroll, then?”

Martin grimaced, “Not quite.”

“Come back with lotto numbers?”

“ _ I mean, depending on how you look at it?” _

“Do I even want to know?” Georgie sighed to herself, “Where’s all this money coming from, then?”

Martin mulled it over for a moment before answering. “Credit card fraud.” he decided. “But it’s, like, practically risk-free.”

“Please tell me it’s not risk-free because you killed someone?”

“ _ Not yet.” _

“Jon,” Martin scolded.

“Jesus,” Georgie sighed, “No, you will not be chipping in on rent with your stolen credit card. I don’t want to get arrested.”

“It’s really fine,” Martin said, “I would feel bad if I didn’t help out a bit.”

“Even if it is safe, I don’t want another thing to panic about.” Georgie said, “And would I be wrong to assume this stolen credit card falls into the category as supernatural?”

“ _ It probably does count, yeah.” _ Jon agreed.

“Then I don’t want it paying my bills,” Georgie said. Martin looked a bit disappointed, so she said, “If you’re that committed to helping with costs, you can cover groceries?”

“Okay, I can do that.”

“So,” Georgie leaned to the side, “Can I ask who’s credit card you stole?”

“Well, I didn’t quite steal it,” Martin said, “He couldn’t be bothered to handle his own financials so he gave me his information. I’m sure he didn’t expect me to time travel and use his accounts, though.” he shrugged. “I know he won’t check.”

“And his bank won’t get suspicious?”

“ _ Oh, they couldn’t care less about him,” _ Jon said, “ _ He’s a real beast to work with. Even if they notice something off in his numbers, which they haven’t yet, they wouldn’t contact him just because nobody wants to deal with him.” _

“Yikes,” Georgie took a bite of her food, “You never actually told me who it is, though.”

“Peter Lukas.” Martin said, “And I believe it’s your ‘no supernatural stuff’ rule that would kick in for any follow up questions.”

Georgie shrugged. “Fair enough. Just keep me out of all this, please.”

“We will.” Martin said.

* * *

“You said you had a plan?” Martin asked, feeling a bit like he was about to commit a robbery. That feeling could be chalked up to the fact that he was, indeed, about to commit a robbery. It was the middle of the day and overcast, and he was wearing nondescript clothing.

They needed to get access to Gertrude’s storage locker but, unfortunately, they had waited too long to retrieve the key from the Archivist’s office. Now Martin wasn’t living in the tunnels anymore, there was an unknown and (given their luck,) hostile being lurking in the tunnels, and past-Jon got a lot more militant about locking doors.

Which meant it was time to commit a few crimes.

_ The keys aren’t unique to the unit. _ Jon said,  _ Which is a terrible safety feature, and I’m annoyed for everyone who has stuff here. It’d be really easy to just rob the place, they have cameras but half of them aren’t even on, _

“Yes, but we are here specifically to rob the place,” Martin tugged him off that tangent. “So we are happy about that.”

_ Yes, fine, _ Jon grumbled.

“What, do you want me to break in there and leave a note listing all the ways their security is lacking?” Martin joked.

_ I- _ Jon sounded like he was actually considering it,  _ No, no, we don’t want that. Just go into the main office, the employee is doing weed in the bathroom. _

“Professional,” Martin said. “Are the cameras a problem?”

_ No, I’ve got that handled. _ Jon said.

Martin opened the door and stepped in. He froze when a windchime above the door rang.

_ That’s fine, _ Jon said,  _ Nobody’s around to notice it. _

“At least give me warning, then,” Martin kept his voice down, “I just about had a heart attack.”

_ Sorry, _ Jon said,  _ Just go behind the counter. There’s a bunch of labelled keys, we want unit 76. _

“Alright,” Martin used the sleeve of his jumper to grab the open the little drawer, and pulled out the key. He left the office quickly, only jumping a little at the loud chime.

It wasn’t a long walk to Gertrude’s storage unit, “So, if we had to go through all that hassle to get here, how did Breekon and Hope do it?”

_ Oh, they just broke in, _ Jon said.  _ People didn’t look too hard at them, and the door fixed itself after them. _

“I guess that makes sense.” Martin said, “Heh, I’m a bit surprised we had to go through all the hassle of getting a key. Feel like one of the powers of an eye god might include getting rid of locked doors.”

_ Yeah. uh. _

“Jon.”

_ It’s just more convenient for us to have a key in the long run, allright? _

“And you wanted to do a robbery, right?” Martin smiled.

_ Maybe a little bit, _ Jon didn’t deny it,  _ But using a key really is more convenient. I don’t think the lock would fix itself again when we were done, and we don’t want anything getting into the storage locker without us. _

“Okay, okay,” Martin said. “You could have just said that.”

_ Yeah, yeah. We’re here. _

Martin pulled up the garage door and found the little light switch just inside the door. It flickered a bit, and provided just barely enough illumination to see by. The locker wasn’t large, but the various items were packed several high all throughout the room. Despite that, it was all neatly organized.

_ I’m amazed it turns on at all, honestly. _ Jon said,  _ There’s so many artefacts in here. A couple Dark ones. _

“Gertrude had her own little artefact storage,” Martin said. “It’s weird, this time I actually know why a lot of this is so… like this.” he nudged one painting with the eyes cut out. Whatever the original, he was almost certain this was creepier.

_ Yeah, _ Jon agreed. There was a pile of books smouldering in the corner.  _ It’s really janky in here. Fair warning, I can’t see super reliably. _

“Yeah, I wouldn’t expect you to,” Martin said, “I can manage on my own, you know.”

_ Just don’t touch the C4. I can’t rip it out of your hands this time. _

“So long as you don’t hurl yourself into the coffin.”

Jon laughed,  _ Alright, deal. _

The coffin was near the front of the storage locker, Breekon and Hope had probably just dropped it as soon as they walked in. That was fair. Unlike the last time Martin saw the coffin, it still had the chains wrapped around it, with an iron skeleton key in the lock.

“So it really made it here,” Martin paced around the coffin, inspecting it from all angles like it was a trick of the light. He nudged it with his foot and not only was it solid, it was extremely heavy. “Lovely.”

_ How nice of them to just leave the key in the lock. _ Jon said.

“Has it claimed any new victims?” Martin took the key. It was cold and vaguely alive in his hand. He shoved it in his pocket.

_ No, _ Jon said,  _ One of the overnight employees tried, but the lock on the main door stopped him. By the time he got back to the office to get the key, the call lost its appeal. _

“Thank goodness,” Martin said, “That would suck, if we went through all the hassle of putting it here for safekeeping only for some innocents to get sucked up into it,”

_ We have been having unforeseen consequences, haven’t we. _ Jon muses.

“I do feel kinda bad for forcing Georgie into all of this,” Martin took a bike lock out of his bag and attached it to the coffin. Just for safekeeping, “I should have known, what with how resistant to all of this she was before.”

_ She’s the one who offered her flat in the first place, _ Jon said,  _ And she’s set boundaries that we will respect. That initial event was a complete accident, and everyone agrees there. I don’t think there will be any problems, and we’re dealing with this responsibly. _

“Yeah, I know that,” Martin scans the room. He didn’t think there was anything else here that would help them, though. Even if there was, they couldn’t bring it home with them, “I just feel like we’re causing a lot of problems for people, though.”

_ Maybe some short term discomfort, _ Jon acknowledged,  _ But I think that’s worth it, for keeping them all alive and preventing the apocalypse. _

“Yeah,” Martin nodded, “Yeah, it is.”

They left the storage lockers without any further incident.

* * *

The little room in the tunnels didn’t look much different. He couldn’t bring the big stuff with him, and he didn’t really have a desire to. To the table, chair, and mattress were all exactly where they were, it still looked well lived in.

“It’s odd,” Martin said. “I didn’t expect to get emotionally attached to this place.”

_ I know what you mean, _ Jon said,  _ and it was damn convenient. _

“That is was.” Martin agreed. He held his bag, full of anything personal or anything that could identify who was living here before. “I guess we’ll just leave it in place for the next fugitive who needs to hide out here.”

_ Yeah,  _ Jon agreed. He didn’t feel the same attachment to the place, but he could see how Martin did. It was harder for him to grow attached to things, as a tape. That should probably be sadder than it was.

They’d hidden the Leitners across a few rooms, as Georgie would definitely be opposed to having cursed books in her flat. They’d taken the power cord back up into the Archives, too, they didn’t need to leave a path for a random being to find it’s way into the Archives. 

They’d scattered their collection of statements across a few rooms, too. Hopefully no one would manage to find all of them and put the pieces together.

(They did not remember to go and retrieve Martin’s jumper from where it still lay over Gertrude’s corpse.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope yall enjoyed!


	17. The Long Haul Hall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That's a lot of walking in one day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is brought to you by me spilling coffee all over my keyboard...  
> It lives!

Martin liked the gentle routine of making tea. He had it down to an art, going through almost the same actions in the same sequence every time. He didn’t have to think about it, the motions were just muscle memory. An easy, easy pattern to fall into. Even the arrival of the time travelers hadn’t been enough to ruin tea for him.

Today was one of those days where the sequence of tea was interrupted. Tim was lounging on the break room couch and sighing. Loudly. And repeatedly.

“Yes, Tim?” Martin gave him the attention he so sorely desired.

“We need to do a team bonding exercise.” Tim declared.

“Why?” Martin asked, “I thought the time travelers and worm people were more than enough team bonding for the decade.” he slipped back into the rhythm of the tea, but it wasn’t quite the same.

“Yeah, but the two smartypants have locked themselves in Jon’s office again,” Tim grumbled.

“Again?” Martin fumbled in his tea making. “They’ve been doing that an awful lot,”

“They did it in research too, sometimes,” Tim said, “Get hung up on some pet project and not speak to any of the rest of us for days at a time.”

“Well, they have been speaking to us,” Martin pointed out.

“No, no, no,” Tim said, “We are  _ not  _ that pathetic. ‘Oh well at least they’re talking to us.’ absolutely not.”

“And it could be a lot worse,” Martin poured the boiling water into the mugs. “What are they even researching, anyways? All I managed to get out of Jon was something about courier services and supply lines.”

“Better than what I got out of Sasha, she said something that sounded like an answer but wasn’t, actually.” Tim grumbled. “We need another common enemy to rally against,” he pouted, “We did so much good scheming when the time travelers first arrived.”

“We were also scared and in a lot of peril,” Martin fished out the tea bags, “But I see what you mean. We can fire up the murder board again? It’s been a while since we added to it.”

“We could,” Tim agreed. He didn’t sound too content with that idea, however. He continued in his pouting.

“What are you thinking?” Martin knew enough by now not to trust that tone.

“How do you feel about doing something sometime?” Tim mused.

“Like movie night?” Martin smiled, “Tim, we’re already doing that.”

“No, like, let’s go out and do something. Together. As a group.” Tim spoke with his hands, “Where we can all hang out without all this time travel weirdness following us around.” Tim finished.

“Sure,” Martin said, “If you can convince the others then I’m game.”

“That is a challenge I am willing to take!” Tim stood up. Apparently he was only lounging like that to look more pathetic. “I’ve heard there is a visiting exhibit at the museum. Think I could convince Jon to hang out with us for that?”

Martin shrugged, “I dunno, probably. What’s the exhibit?”

“No clue. I’ll spring it on him the next chance I get. But I need you to be there when I ask, okay?”

“What, why?” Martin passed Tim his tea, and was thanked.

Tim hummed it over for a moment, an odd look passing over his face “... moral support. Just look super hopeful, okay?”

“Puppy-dog eyes behind your back, got it.”

* * *

Sasha snuck past the breakroom to get into the tunnels. She could hear Tim and Martin talking inside, so they probably didn’t notice her sneak past. Jon was already waiting down there, shuffling through a few papers. She politely didn’t mention the pile of cigarette butts slowly growing beside him.

“So, I think I found a way to track Breekon and Hope,” Sasha said. She was whispering, although the voyeurs they contended with weren’t deterred by lowered voices. The tunnels did, however, echo quite loudly.

“How?” Jon asked. He had spent all weekend looking, and was unable to find more than a mention of them online. At least most of the mentions were in the context of people retelling an unnerving tale, though.

“So, I was able to tell by the time stamps on some of the documents I was working on when the delivery men came, then I checked it up against the traffic cameras outside.”

“How did you get access to the traffic cameras?” Jon frowned.

“Illegally,” Sasha said without missing a beat, “Anyways, I never actually saw the truck pull up or leave, but the cameras went out of whack for a bit in the middle. Fuzzy, not quite all the way broken, but definitely not enough detail to tell whether something happened or not.”

“And you think that’s when they were here?” Jon asked.

“It would make sense,” Sasha said, “Technology doesn’t agree with the real statements either. And it would make sense, if they are Strangers, that they wouldn’t be caught on camera.”

“So you’re just going to track the static?” Jon said.

“Yeah,” Sasha said, “I think I’ll follow them in both directions, for a bit. See where they came from, where they went.”

“Well, good luck with that,” Jon ruffled through his bag. “I do not envy you.”

“It’s been a while since I had a challenge,” Sasha grinned, “What have you been up to?”

“I have been lurking on online scary story forums,” Jon said.

“Seriously?” Sasha snickered.

“Yes, seriously,” Jon rolled his eyes. “I test them out first by reading them aloud to my phone. I’ve found a couple that don’t record.”

“Well, I guess statistically at least some of those stories have to be true.” Sasha said, “Find anything interesting?”

“Nothing notable yet,” Jon said, “I’ve been taking notes to look for patterns, though.”

“Alright.”

They sat there in silence for a few moments. Then Sasha got up to leave, while Jon pulled out another cigarette. It really wasn’t any of her business.

She grabbed a file box as an excuse, and returned to her seat. She went through the usual motions of digitizing a statement, and was halfway done when Tim finally interrupted her.

“So Sash,” He slid onto her desk.

“So Tim,” she responded in kind.

“I’ve been thinking,”

“Risky business.”

“There’s a travelling museum exhibit in town,” Tim said, “I’m planning on inviting Jon, as part of our mission to get him to lighten up. Martin’s coming too, and I need you to come to act as a buffer between me and the pining.”

“When?” Sasha asked, to at the very least have the appearance of having a social life.

“This Saturday, from like, ten or so?”

“Okay,” Sasha said, “I’m down. You’d better absorb some of the pining for me too, if it gets too sappy I will abandon you.”

“Fair enough,”

* * *

Jon sat at his desk, mindlessly tapping on his computer, when Tim all but broke the door down to get in, with Martin trailing meekly behind.

Tim had the face of a man on a mission, so Jon just braced for impact, “Yes, Tim?”

“We’re going out this weekend.” he said - informed, demanded, “There’s a museum exhibit. The rest of us are going, so you have to too.”

“That is not how that works,” Jon said, but Tim blasted on.

“No, that’s totally how that works.” Tim smirked. “Come on, the rest of us are already going, you can’t just leave us alone! Who knows what sort of shenanigans we’ll get up.”

“I’m perfectly sure you can manage in adult society alone,” Jon said, but he looked unconvinced.

“You can’t say that for certain,”

Jon pursed his lips as he mulled that one over. “What’s the exhibit?”

“That’s a surprise,” Tim said.

“I have google, you know.” Jon frowned.

“Then google it,” Tim shrugged, “We’re meeting at ten on Saturday.”

“Get out of my office,”

“That’s a yes!”

* * *

They met up at a cafe a few blocks away from the museum, to load up on caffeine before heading in. Tim and Sasha were already waiting there when Jon and Martin arrived, both already sipping from paper cups.

“So, did you look up what we’re seeing?” Tim asked. His drink was technically coffee with milk, though it may be more accurate to call it milk with coffee.

“You mean you didn’t?” Jon asked.

“No, I’d just assumed you would,” Tim said, “And?”

“It’s a death exhibit,” he said, “So you found something fitting.”

“Because I’m the best.” Tim declared.

“I think it sounds neat,” Martin said, “I read up on it a bit too. It looks pretty interactive.”

“An interactive death exhibit?” Sasha took a deep sip of her drink, “Yikes,” she grinned. Everyone else noticed it was a joke.

It was a quick walk down the street and to the museum. The exhibit was really very intricate, with large displays and interactive exhibits. Sasha was the only one who could smell the cyanide (fake cyanide, probably) and Martin was the one the ‘fortune-telling genie’ declared would live the longest.

(Which was… strangely fitting, if the time travelers were to be believed.)

In the deadly household objects was where Jon popped off. The exhibit had a lovely arsenic green dress on display, so he gave a lecture about how the Victorians did know arsenic was bad, the companies just had no regulation and put it in products anyways. They even falsely marketed a lot of products as arsenic free.

Tim and Sasha spent most of the impromptu lecture giving each other very meaningful looks. Martin didn’t notice, as he was too busy watching Jon carry on and into the topic of radioactive goods, as they walked into the radioactive part of the exhibit.

They lingered a couple of steps behind as Jon and Martin went into the little compartment to watch glasses glow in the dark. “Which one has it worse?” Sasha asked.

“I would say Jon, because he might not even notice,” Tim said, “But, Martin notices enough to stress about it. A lot.”

When they came back out of the darkroom, they were in something that might be an argument. From what Sasha could tell, Martin had referred to the goods as irradiated and Jon was passionately explaining to him the difference between radioactive and irradiated.

“Whenever they get together,” Sasha said, because it was definitely a ‘when’ and not an ‘if’, “They are going to be such a bitchfest.”

“What I would give to be a fly on the wall then,” Tim said, purposefully misusing the phrase as there was quite a lot he wouldn’t give, actually. “Just so long as they don’t set their sights on me next.”

Ahead of them, Martin started trying to argue that the goods could technically be irradiated  _ and _ radioactive. This caused a short circuit in Jon before he argued back.

“The unstoppable force and immovable object both coming for you at the same time,” Sasha agreed.

Martin proved himself quite knowledgeable in the exhibit on poisonous plants, with the flowers especially. When pushed, he muttered something about fancy plant symbolism, before blasting right past that.

(As if everyone present hadn’t already walked in on him recording his extremely sanguine poetry at least once.)

(Sasha thought it was cute.)

They went to a sandwich shop to eat, once they finished touring the exhibit. It was a simple little sandwich shop, with big windows along the front facing the street. It was busy, so they only managed to get a little table in the corner furthest from the window.

“I’m, ah, going to step out for a moment,” Jon said towards the end of the meal.

“Something wrong?” Tim asked.

“No, no, I’m fine,” Jon waved them off, “Just need to step out for a moment.”

A few minutes later, Martin looked concerned, “He’s been gone for a while.”

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Sasha said.

“I think I’ll go-” Martin started to stand.

“If you’re that concerned, I can go check on him,” Sasha offered, “I’m closer to the door.” it was true. And it was such a busy day that it would be difficult for Martin to make it all the way to the door.

“Would you?” Martin said, “I mean, I know it’s probably nothing, but I just,”

“Yeah, it’s fine,” Sasha stood up, “Nothing wrong with checking, even if it’s nothing.”

Jon leaned against the wall a few feet away with a cigarette, “You’re not here to yell at me, are you?” he asked.

“If that was a plan, we’d have sent Martin.” Sasha said. She didn’t agree with the smoking, but Jon was an adult. “Something up in there?”

“No, nothing wrong,” Jon said, “Just a bit loud and, uh,” he held up the cigarette pointedly.

Sasha got it. “Well, I’ll stay here a bit longer. Make it seem like I’m doing my due diligence and all.”

They chatted idly for a bit, not really talking much. A few cars were going past them on the street.

Then a moving van went past them.

They looked at each other. “Was that?” Jon pointed at it.

“Breekon and Hope.” Sasha filled in. “Yeah.”

“Huh,” Jon looked after them. They had gotten stuck at a red light not too far away from them.

“Go in there and make an excuse for me,” Sasha said, then took off after the truck. She was glad she had brought her bag with her when she left.

Jon stayed out there long enough to finish his cigarette, throw it away, then rejoined the others.

“Where’d Sasha go?” Tim asked. 

“She got a call,” Jon said, retaking his place. “I don’t really know what. Said she had to leave, though.”

“Bummer,” Tim summarized.

“I mean, we are basically done,” Martin said.

“Yes, I suppose.” Tim sighed.

* * *

Sasha was, for the first time, glad for London traffic. After her initial little jog to catch up with the van, she could keep up with it easily, all without looking too suspicious. She lingered in the van’s blind spot, holding up her phone but watching the road.

She had already been planning on walking a lot that day, so she was already wearing comfortable shoes. Not that she really owned and uncomfortable shoes, she was far beyond the point where she’d sacrifice functionality for form.

After a few minutes of seemingly directionless walking, she opened up the maps app on her phone. She followed the little dot on the screen and tried to figure out where the delivery men might be taking her, but she couldn’t figure it out.

After a few minutes of walking, they were out of central London. This was bad for Sasha, as the traffic had now cleared up and the van was travelling faster. She kept up with it for as long as she could, but then it was gone.

“Dammit.” Sasha froze where she was. She looked around her. None of the road signs were familiar, but she took mental note of them. She could hack into the traffic cameras later, and track the van from there. Hopefully.

She looked down to her phone to check the time, but the screen was dark. She tried to turn it on, but the battery was dead and the screen was way over heated. So, that’s useless now. She put it in her bag and hoped it wouldn’t conspire with the pile of old receipts down there to start a fire.

Somehow, despite watching herself walk here on Google maps, Sasha had no clue where she was. She didn’t recognize neither the signs nor the buildings around her. So that was just perfect.

She turned on her heel and started walking back the way she came. It wouldn’t be too helpful, as she knew she’d made a lot of turns that she didn’t recall, but it was in the right direction at least.

Looking up at the sun, she was able to figure the cardinal directions, but that didn’t do her much good, as she still didn’t know where she was. It did, unfortunately, inform her that she was running out of daylight fast.

And her feet hurt. It felt like a bit of a pathetic thing to complain about at this point, given that she was lost after chasing a mystery van for at least an hour, but feeling like she was walking on bruises was not at all helpful. She didn’t dare stop to rest, though, as she knew she wouldn’t be able to get back up again.

So she walked for a good hour or so, completely exhausting whatever daylight she had left. Her surroundings hadn’t gotten any more familiar, either. She was in a residential area now, surrounded by rows upon rows of identical flats.

She could, theoretically, go up to one of the buildings and phone for a cab, or even just ask for directions. Sasha, however, was not particularly well-known for her ability to admit when she’d made a poor decision.

So she kept going, trying her best to walk straight through the residential area to a place where she might be able to recognize landmarks. None of the signs here were familiar to her, and she started to be overcome by the irrational fear that she was walking in circles.

She paid better attention to what directions she was turning in, then. She kept going straight, unless the road forced her to turn. Whenever she had to turn, she alternated it, left, right, right, left. Hopefully she would still be heading in vaguely the same direction when she was done.

But the thing is, she never seemed to be done. The residential area had to be huge, with how long she’d been walking in it. Either that or she had slowed down significantly since she started - which she highly doubted.

Everytime she glanced down a sidestreet it was just more of the same, identically dull buildings fading around corners.

She was starting to think her plan of picking a direction and going in it was wrong. Nowhere near London would build a residential area so large. But she couldn’t exactly abandon her plan now, could she.

She kept walking for another half hour or so, not that she had a watch to track the time. After this she’d invest in a watch, she thought, a good one that isn’t dependent on batteries and their whimsy.

“You look a bit lost.” A voice said behind her.

She startled and jumped, hand going for her bag.

(Not that she had anything particularly threatening in there. Her keys were in the other pocket, even. What was she going to do, scare her assailant off with a fistful of old receipts? The horror.)

It was just a bright yellow door, half open, with a set of teeth gleaming in a cheshire grin.

“Michael,” she greeted, relaxing her posture and extracting her hand from the receipts that clung to her. “You startled me.”

“Yes,” Michael snickered, “I can see that.” the rest of his body made itself known then. He didn’t fade in like the cheshire cat, or do something as mundane as walk around a corner. He wiggled into existence instead, like someone shaking their phone while taking a panorama.

“Yes, fine, mock my ineptitude all you like,” Sasha said, because she really was tired now. “Are you here to gloat?”

“I don’t see why I would have anything to gloat over,” Michael stayed framed by the doorway. “You did this to yourself. Just couldn't let them get away, could you?”

“You’re the one telling me I’m dangerously uninformed.” Sasha said, “What do you expect me to do, not chase down a lead?”

“No, no,” Michael shook his head, and his curly hair shook in non-newtonian ways. “This is exactly what I expected you to do.”

Now that she wasn’t walking, Sasha was exhausted. “Okay, fine,” She said, “And why are you here, then?”

“Well, you seem to need some help,” Michael said, “You’re like a rat trapped in a maze, no exit in sight. Perhaps all you need,” he gestured grandly, “is a Door?”

Sasha couldn’t stand to stay still anymore, her feet hurt too much, so she stepped from side to side while she mulled it over. Well, saying she mulled it over sounded a bit wrong. She didn’t see much of another choice.

But she wasn’t stupid. “You’ll let me out, right?” she asked, “Somewhere that I’m familiar with?”

“Oh, you of little faith,” Michael sighed and wilted like he was offended. “I will even do you one better, and drop you off at home.”

“In a timely fashion?” Sasha asked.

“I don’t think I’ve done enough to earn this level of scrutiny.” Michael crossed his arms and they wound around each other over and over, “You seemed all too willing to follow the delivery men all the way to their Trophy Room.”

“Trophy Room? No, never mind.” Sasha said. “I- fine. Fine. I just want to get out of here.”

Michael stepped out of her way, “By all means,” he grinned.

Sasha stepped over the threshold.

Immediately the door slammed shut behind her, so loud she was surprised it didn’t hit her in the back. She turned around to check, but all that was there was a continuation of the infinite hallway she now found herself in.

It was a long hallway, the floor was carpeted and there were rows of doors and mirrors, to the point where it was difficult to distinguish what was a door, what was a mirror, and what was a turn.

The carpet was a carpet. Every time she landed on an adjective to describe it, it shifted again and left her without words. The best thing she could settle on was that it was like a bowling alley carpet, but also nothing like that.

“Michael?” She asked her surroundings. He didn’t answer, but he could probably still hear her. Though she didn’t know whether that made her feel any better or now. “You’d better not screw me over.”

Nobody answered. Not that she expected anyone to answer.

So she started walking. She didn’t exactly have much of a choice. Every few steps she stopped to tug at the door, none of them opened and half the time she just ended up punching a mirror.

“I am starting to get sick of this,” she declared to the ceiling. She kept trudging along, letting her feet drag her around even though now they proper  _ hurt _ and she probably wouldn’t be able to get out of bed tomorrow because of it.

She pushed on another door, and she was so surprised when this one opened that she actually tripped and fell face-first onto a sofa. She rolled over and landed on the floor - on  _ her _ floor after falling off of  _ her _ sofa.

“Oh thank god,” she muttered, staring up at the cheap popcorn ceiling.

“Isn’t there someone else you should be thanking?” Michael was sitting on the arm of her chair, nothing but a dark and misshapen silhouette above her.

“Yes, fine, thank you Michael,” she said, “Why did you make me walk so long?”

Michael rolled his eyes; which Sasha really shouldn’t have been able to see, backlit as he was. “So ungrateful,” he complained. “You were quite a ways from home, girl, I can distort space sure, but I can only do so much.”

Sasha didn’t believe that. She didn’t have the energy to argue with him, though.

“Okay, yes, thank you oh benevolent one,” she said, “Now please leave, as I am in no mood for guests.”

Michael huffed, but did actually leave.

She couldn’t stand to get up to go to bed, so she pulled the blanket off the couch and fell asleep on the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: the museum exhibit is based on an exhibit near my house. I haven't left my house since last march, I miss it... it's a really good museum...
> 
> Sometimes I wonder if yall can tell what my uni major is based on what I have the characters info dump about, lol. i don't really research things for them to say, just bring up stuff I find interesting.  
> (yes, the info dumps in the museum are actual things I have said to family and friends. the arsenic green dye of the victorian era is fascinating...)


	18. an adventure in fraud

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tunnels and shops

_ So, do you think it’s gonna work? _ Jon asked.

“Did you see the way his face lit up?” Martin asked, “Absolutely. I bet he even thought it was his own idea.”

It was nice, Martin decided, to live in a flat with in-unit laundry. He could just put his things in the wash then wander off without worrying that his laundry would be stolen, or some ‘helpful’ soul moving his things for him.

He had gotten an ad on his phone for museum exhibits and escape rooms shortly after he and Jon had been talking about it. It was creepy, and definitely a result of the online surveillance. In any case, it did actually benefit him this time.

( _ Some people refer to the internet as a panopticon. _ Jon informed him while Martin was debating whether or not to click the link.

“No way.” Martin said back.

_ No, it’s true. _ Jon said,  _ You can google it. _

Martin did. “Dammit.”)

_ It’ll make for a nice test run. _ Jon said.

“So, any plans for our weekend without the scooby bunch?” Martin asked. He’d pointed out the exhibit to Tim shortly after he’d found it, then he’d heard Tim pestering past-Martin about it, so he was fairly certain the plan had worked.

_ I don’t think we have anything stable about the circus yet. _ Jon said,  _ maybe we could look around in the tunnels some more. _

“The tunnels are nice,” Martin agreed. “Well, not really. You know what I mean. It’s as good a plan as any.”

_ Yes, I know what you meant, _ Jon said,  _ it’s as good a plan as any. _

“You’re the one who suggested it!” Martin laughed, “What do you mean, oh yeah, it’s fine,”

_ I was agreeing with you, jeez, _ Jon sighed with a crackle of static,  _ I guess that was my mistake, goodness. _

“No, you should always agree with me.”

* * *

On Friday, Martin went to a proper out-doorsy type store to buy some supplies. Apparently the map he’d given to Georgie during the kerfuffle had gotten lost, so he had to start over again. He was a bit sad at the loss of all the progress he’d made, but on the bright side he could start over with proper cartography supplies.

“I don’t know why we didn’t think of this before,” he said, tilting a leveller back and forth in his hand. “There are proper map-making supplies. And there I was just eye-balling it.” he watched the little bubble go back and forth in the colored liquid.

_It’s ethanol,_ Jon said, correctly assuming that Martin was enthralled with the liquid. _Alcohols have_ _lower surface tension than water, so the bubble moves faster and more accurately. And it’s less prone to freezing, and even if it does freeze it won’t shatter the glass._

“Water would shatter the glass?” Martin added it to his hand basket.

_ Yeah, water expands when frozen, _ Jon said. He said it like he was rolling his eyes, like this should be obvious.  _ It’s why ice floats in drinks and why life exists at all. _

“Why life exists at all?” Martin moved to look at the tape measures. He’d prefer one that did not break his fingers when it snapped back, thank you very much. “That’s a big leap.”

_ No it’s not, _ Jon scolded,  _ If ice didn’t rise, the oceans would freeze from the inside out and never thaw enough for life. The earth would just be an iceball, and there’d be no life at all. So there. _

“But what about aliens?” Martin smirked. He knew how to get Jon riled up.

_ What about aliens? _

“You said that if ice sinks there would be no life at all.” Martin said, “So, what about the aliens. I think it’s very earth-centric to assume that all life in the universe requires water.” he found a tape measure that he liked. When he recalled the tape it didn’t try to snap his hand off.

_ I think we can afford to be a bit earth-centric for this conversation, _ Jon scoffed.  _ It is the only place where we’re certain life exists, after all. _

“Wait a minute,” Martin didn’t bother standing aside in the aisle, it was only him and a tired cashier in the whole shop. “Do you Know about other planets and like, aliens and junk? Could you?”

_ I, ah, _ Jon stuttered in that way that meant Martin took him off-guard.  _ I don’t think so? Nothing’s popping into my head, so probably not. I think in order for me to Know something, someone else has to know it first. _

Martin sighed, and kept walking. He probably had all the mapmaking supplies he needed at this point. “Yes, I suppose that makes sense.”

_ Martin? _ Jon was smiling with his voice.

“What?”

_ Are you upset you don’t get to know about alien secrets? _

“God, not even the secrets,” Martin shook his head, “Just knowing that there are. That would be so cool.”

_ Well, if it makes you feel any better, _ Jon said through his smile,  _ It is statistically highly unlikely that aliens do not exist. That would be very earth-centric. _

“Yes, yes, I know.” Martin said, then froze. “Wait, no, you don’t get to use my words back at me.”

_ Too late. _

Martin internally seethed, but externally just went to pay for the stuff he bought. He tucked all the little things he bought into the rucksack he bought right there in the store, then left.

“I cannot believe you,” Martin tsked and shook his head, “First you steal my words, and what’s next.”

_ Well, I mean, _ Jon said,  _ You did already steal a man’s credit card. _

“Whoa! That’s different.” Martin said.

_ What, more illegal? _

“Well, he gave it to me, first of all.” Martin bragged, “He just doesn’t remember it. And, ah, probably didn’t intend for me to use it this way.”

_ Very helpful to your case. _

“But he gave it to me,” Martin shot back. “And he never asked for it back. Ergo, it’s mine now to use as I want. Besides, he’s absolutely rolling in it.”

_ Alright, alright, _ Jon muses,  _ your defense holds up. _

“Oh, thank goodness,” Martin veers off the main street, “This would probably look very bad if I was going into it already with a less than perfect record.”

_ Yes, you’re probably right. _ Jon laughed as Martin pulled the grating away from the entrance to the tunnels. Jon turned all the cameras away from them; it wasn’t hard. He just glared at the cameras until they caved and looked away.

(And it’s probably for the best that there was no one watching the cameras when he pulled that move. It would be the sort of thing one came to the Institute to give a statement about.)

This entrance was just big enough for Martin to crawl through it rather than squeeze - an important distinction that they’d made while mapping the tunnels. He did have to crawl in backwards, however, since while the entrance was street level from the outside, it was near the ceiling on the inside.

Martin made it in and down the gap without much trouble, though, just stopping briefly to wipe imaginary dust off his jumper. Even if it was warm outside, the tunnels were always preternaturally chilly.

“You all good?” Martin asked.

_ Yes, _ Jon smiled,  _ You really don’t have to ask every time. _

“I like to,” Martin waved him off. “And besides, we haven’t been down here for a while. I wanted to make sure nothing had changed.”

_ I highly doubt anything has changed down here in the past two hundred years, _ Jon smiled,  _ Much less in the past two weeks. _

“Excuse me for being thorough.” Martin rolled his eyes, “It’s just that things like that always seem to break around us.”

_ Alright, alright,  _ Jon placated him.  _ That is a fair bet. No, we have not broken the two-hundred year old tunnels with our mere presence. _

“Thank you.” Martin said, “Was that so hard?”

_ I’ll make sure to inform you of everything we’re not breaking in the future. _

Martin laughed, “Yes, that’s all I ask you for.”

Nothing had changed about the tunnels, not really. The walls were still stone bricks, or sometimes red brick, or sometimes just dirt, and the floor underwent a similar metamorphosis. It was normal, in a comforting way.

The tunnels were more sinister than before, however, in that there was someone else down here. After walking an hour, they still hadn’t encountered anything obviously sinister, but it was just freaky enough to know that there was something else down here with them.

The map making was, admittedly, a lot of fun. Martin finished off drawing a line with a flat edge on the wall. The rough wall did make his line all ragged, but the halls weren’t exactly straight either, so it all evened out.

The numbering of the tunnels was, unfortunately, extremely muddled and confusing. Whenever he came to an intersection, he marked it down with a paint pen, which had so far been very reliable. However, since he was now starting over, the old numbers mixed with the new numbers. At least Jon had been able to tell him which number he’d left off on.

“Can’t wait for the next poor explorer to come through this place,” Martin commented, as he added intersection 129 between intersections 34 and 39. “ ‘The tunnels are numbered, but not in any discernible order, what does it mean?’ ” he said in an exaggerated accent.

_ Why do I get the feeling I’m being made fun of? _ Jon asked.

“Only a little bit,” Martin admitted.

_ Mean, _ Jon audibly rolled his eyes.  _ Anyways, these tunnels could always add a bit more lore. Every creature that roams here leaves its own mark. _

“Getting a little poetic there, don’t you think?” Martin smiled.

_ Oh, shut up. _

Martin did, and walked for a few more hallways, marking unmarked intersections as he found them. As he continued, he found less and less unmarked intersections.

“We’re almost to the Archives again, aren’t we?” Martin asked. The tunnels here were different, though not really in any discernible way. This area felt like home, a place lived in, but in a haunted house sort of way.

_ Yeah, _ Jon confirmed,  _ the two more intersections down and to the left. Why? _

“I’m just recognizing the area a bit more now,” Martin gestured vaguely. He did wonder what about the tunnels he actually recognized, though, since there wasn’t actually anything visually different.

_ It’s probably mostly just you picking up on subconscious patterns, _ Jon said in response,  _ and a little bit you can probably feel as the Archives get closer. _

Martin nodded. “Okay, that’s an answer,” he said, “To a question I didn’t ask out loud.”

_ You didn’t? _ Jon asked,  _ Are you sure? _

“You’re usually the one to say things out loud when you mean to be thinking them,” Martin pointed out.

_ I say something incriminating in front of the police one time… _ Jon tsked, though the sound was mostly static.  _ I am sorry. I didn’t realize you didn’t say that out loud. _

“It’s fine,” Martin shrugged and made another mark on the map to show another intersection, but he just continued straight ahead. “I was genuinely considering asking it in any case. It’s not like you were prying.”

_ Well okay then. _ Jon said.  _ Apology rescinded. _

Martin stared down the hallway where Jon had directed. Then he turned away.

_ Where to now? _ Jon asked.

“Oh, it’s nothing really,” Martin said, “Did we get all the tapes out of Gertrude’s room?”

_ There may have been a box left, _ Jon said.  _ Remember, we were going to go in and get it, then Sasha called. _

“Yes,” Martin nodded, “Then the worm fiasco hit. We could go pick that up quickly, just for completeness’ sake.”

_ And it would be pretty bad if someone else found all those tapes. _ Jon added,  _ With how much time we spend down here, I’m certain there would be five conspiracy theories at the ready as soon as they found them. _

“Yeah,” Martin shook his head, “Though I do think the corpse would be more concerning to them than all the tapes.”

_ Eh, _ Jon didn’t sound too convinced,  _ I mean, it depends on your priorities, I suppose. _

“And I feel like most normal people would prioritize the corpse,” Martin rolled his eyes.

_ What on earth gave you the impression that we are dealing with normal people? _ Jon asked,  _ traumatized freaks, every last one of them. _

“You do have a point there,” Martin said, “I think Tim would prioritize a corpse over a box of tapes?”

_ Probably, probably, _ Jon agreed.  _ But I don’t think Tim would come into the tunnels alone, so he’d probably be outvoted. _

“True, ture.” Martin nodded along.

He turned the corner and there was Gertrude waiting for him, with significantly more cobwebs than the last time he’d come through.

“Oh, this is nice,” Martin stepped over a particularly large web. It looked thick enough he could actually get his foot stuck in it. He didn’t particularly like the idea of meeting whatever monster was big enough to make that thing happen.

_ Yikes. _ Jon agreed,  _ It’s only getting worse. _

“I wonder what kind of exterminator we’d need to deal with this,” Martin found the box on the floor, completely devoid of cobwebs. “And just what exactly the point of all this is.”

_ The only thing I can think of would be the table? _ Jon suggested.

“Or maybe whatever all that rubbish was the other week,” Martin shook his head, “I don’t like that we’ve officially reached the point where we can’t predict this sort of thing.”

_ And whatever we’re up against has wisened up enough to use the tunnels. _ Jon grumbled.  _ I don’t like it. _

“Look at it this way,” Martin held the box above his head while he weaved his way back through the minefield of webs. He felt like a significantly less cool Bond protagonist avoiding tripwires. “Variety is the spice of life.” Gertrude’s half-dead and glassy eyes followed him the whole way.

_ Oh yes, _ Jon said,  _ Because that’s so much more helpful than the alternative. _

“See? It’s all a matter of perspective.”

Martin dropped off the box in a separate room and marked in on the map, then set off in search of the Archives again. The significant amount of cobwebs meant he was not eager to see what he would find.

Martin turned the corner, and there was the trapdoor. There was also a pile of cigarette butts on the floor just below the trapdoor.

“Huh.” Martin hummed as he walked up to it. He kicked the ashes around a bit, as if that would have any effect on the evidence before him. “So, I’m gonna make an educated guess about what’s going on here.”

_ Someone, _ Jon said it pointedly,  _ is sneaking down here to smoke. _

“Stop reading my mind,” Martin smiled, then it faded again. “Wasn’t he the one freaking out the most over a potential invader in the tunnels?”

_ Well, I mean, it’s right under the entrance. _ Jon explained,  _ A quick getaway if something goes amiss. _

“That’s not how this works,” the baddies aren’t deterred by a door, much less an unlocked one. Most couldn’t be outrun either, unless they decided to play with their food.

_ But that’s definitely his thought process. _ Jon said,  _ and it’s somewhere private enough that no one will come yell at him for being unhealthy or anything. _

“That is his thought process, isn’t it,” Martin sighed, “And he’s definitely doing it in secret, because I know both past-me and Tim would definitely get on him about it, so there’s no way he’d let them know he was smoking again.”

_ That does explain his sneaking off in the middle of the day. _

“He’s been sneaking off and you only decided to tell me now?” Martin asked, “I feel like that would’ve been information to share earlier on.”

_ Well, I didn’t know he was sneaking off. _ Jon defended,  _ I’ve been trying not to Look at him too hard - or any of them. They deserve some privacy. I didn’t think it was too odd that he was acting cagey, but he was totally sneaking off. _

“Okay, fine, fine,” Martin sighed and scrubbed a hand across his face. “I agree that it would’ve been more unusual for him not to act suspicious. But like, maybe at least mention it? As an, oh by the way, so we’re not blindsided.”

_ Who even smokes somewhere with such limited airflow, though? _ Jon sounded frankly offended.  _ It’s gonna stink so bad in here. Hell, he could even suffocate himself. _

“I highly doubt he is coming down here to hotbox the entire tunnels.” Martin shook his head, “I’m just concerned about why he’s smoking.”

_ Stress? _ Jon offered a guess.

“I mean, possible.” Martin said, “But what caused you to smoke again last time?”

_ The web lighter. _ Jon said.  _ Wait, did we ever dispose of that? _

“I really don’t remember.” Martin said. “But given, well, the evidence,” he nudged the pile again. “I’m gonna go with a firm no.”

_ And we can’t exactly pop into the Archives to check, what with the door being locked. _ Jon said. Martin punched the locked door for emphasis, it didn’t even budge.  _ This is just perfect. _

“Nothing we can’t plan around.”

_ You’re going to plan around the web? Really? _

“Well, not with that attitude.”

Then they turned around and left. They had a new variable to plan for, now.

And at the end of the day, who was more grateful for the distraction the cigarettes had provided? The monster, hiding and listening in the shadows undetected, or them for the fact that she had decided to let the Hunt continue on a while longer?

* * *

As soon as Martin rose from the tunnels, his phone blew up with texts. Well, not quite blew up, but it was quite a few more texts than he was used to receiving - which was none.

_ Georgie: hey, I know you said you’d be out today without signal, but if you notice this before coming back could you pick up cat food and something for dinner? _

Martin checked the time stamp. It had only been sent a bit over an hour ago (73 minutes). He wanted to type an emoji, but his old phone only allowed alphanumerals, so he sent her a smiley face. He got a smiley face in return a few seconds later.

“So, we’re going shopping then,” Martin said.

_ From the horror of the tunnels to the horror of the shops on a weekend. _

“Oh, so dramatic,” Martin shook his head, “It’s not that bad.”

_ Yeah, you’re not the one being bombarded by all the little facts of those people. _ Jon said,  _ I do not need to know which of those people are there because they’re anger shopping after getting in a fight. _

“Do you need me to grab you a paracetamol?” Martin smiled.

_ Oh yes, laugh it up. _ Jon said.  _ I’ll make sure to relay all the cursed thoughts to you as I receive them. _

“I’m going to be very good at trivia by the time all this is over,” Martin said, walking out into the street. It was crowded enough that no one even noticed he was talking to himself, much less cared.

_ Cursed trivia. _ Jon joked,  _ where we ask you questions about the worst in humanity. _

“Oh no, you mix in some neat facts there, too.” Martin said, “Like storing toxic waste in concrete.”

_ We can call that one a middle ground, I suppose. _ Jon conceded.  _ But I do have to inform you that the concrete toxic waste is scary to some. _

“Alright, alright,” Martin waved him off, “We can call some of your facts tentatively interesting. Fair?” 

_ Fair. _

It was a quick in and out at a Tesco Express, picking up cat food and a couple of meal packs. He swiped his card at the checkout.

“Uh,” the cashier got an awkward look on her face, “I’m sorry, your card was denied.”

“Oh.” Martin said back to her, “Huh.” he had enough cash on him to cover the cost, then he went into the street.

_ Do not respond to me, _ Jon said first thing, which wasn’t concerning at all.  _ Our credit card has been reported as stolen and fraudulent. _

So apparently Georgie was correct to be concerned about that.

_ And we’re being followed. _ Jon said.  _ By a Hunter, probably Daisy. _

So this day just kept getting better and better. Martin swung the bags forcefully, the closest to a question he could come up with.

_ Leave them on Georgie’s doorstep, _ Jon said,  _ Knock and then leave. We probably shouldn’t drag all of this back to her place. After that, I think we can lose her, but she’ll probably find us again. _

Absolutely delightful.

Time to lead Daisy on a wild goose chase through London, and hope she didn’t catch on.

(She doesn't want to end the Hunt prematurely, though.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just realized I've never properly explained my formatting. I use italics with no quotes for one-on-one communication through a conduit (so... Jon with earphones, pretty much.) and I use italics with quotes for something someone could theoretically listen in on (jon without headphones, phone calls.) this might be a bit more complicated than strictly necessary, but oh well.
> 
> Hope yall enjoyed!


	19. The Trophy Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "They're doing something stupid, aren't they," Martin bemoaned into the phone.  
> "I mean, look at it this way," Tim offered, "They're doing something stupid together."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, if there's one thing to be said about a big ol' blizzard that locked me inside without power, it's that I finally got around to outlining the rest of this fic! I now know what's happening until the end.

Sasha called in sick to work on Monday, after sleeping straight through Sunday and waking up after midnight on technically Monday. She felt awful, and could only manage to drag herself out of bed long enough to eat.

She dozed a bit after that, until Tim called her at unreasonably early in the morning.

“What?” she didn’t have the energy to properly answer the phone, and she was a bit more than annoyed that he’d interrupted her almost-sleep.

“Oh good, you really are sick.” he said.

Sasha glares at the 5 AM flashing on her clock. “Yeah, and?”

“Sorry for the hour, it’s just the last time we took a coworker at their texted-word, he wound up trapped in his flat for a few days.” Tim sounded like he was vibrating with energy. Sasha wanted to steal some of that energy from him.

“Well, I’m not.” she said. “I’m just trying to sleep.”

“Okay, okay,” Tim laughed a bit through the line, though Sasha couldn’t imagine what was so funny. “I’ll call you again at a more decent hour, alright?”

“Yes, fine.” Sasha grumbled.

She dozed off again. She woke up on her own a few minutes before Tim called again, luckily for him.

“Yes, hello,” she said into the receiver, “I am alive, awake, and staying home of my own free will.”

“Alright. Alright,” Tim said, “That’s good to hear. Do you need me to get you anything?”

“Not really,” Sasha sighed, and wandered out to her main room, sifting through cabinets. “It’s just a twenty-four hour bug, I’ll be back tomorrow. Just need a day to be lazy.”

“What? Sasha,” Tim pouted, “If you were going to take a lazy day, you should have just told me. We could have had a lazy day together.”

Sasha rolled her eyes, “Sorry,” she said, “I need a lazy day to be alone.” she had some granola bars, which was good enough for her breakfast.

“Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow then, yeah?”

“Yeah, see you Tim,” she hung up before Tim could drag the conversation out any longer.

It was a nice time to have a lazy day. Sasha hadn’t realized how high-strung she had been from everything in the Archives lately, and it was nice to have a day to wander around in her pajamas and watch bad movies.

At least, until it was time to eat real food for dinner, when she realized she was completely out of food. She could order in, but it felt like a bit of a waste when the curry place she wanted to stop at was just down the block from her.

So, she put on real clothes and went for a little walk. Her feet hurt, but it wasn’t as bad as she thought it would be. At least, until it was time for her to go back. Then she dreaded the walk.

“Want a shortcut?” Michael asked, leaning against the wall beside her.

Sasha held her foam box of leftovers and looked him up and down. “What?” he asked, “Did I not prove myself trustworthy?”

“Fine,” she admitted, and her feet truly did hurt quite a bit. “But it better truly be a shortcut. If I have to walk as far as I did last time, I’ll be annoyed.”

“I’m a lot of things, but I’m not a liar.” Michael looked offended, lifting his chin and sniffing obviously. “If I say I’ll give you a shortcut, then it’s truly a shortcut.”

Sasha shouldered past him, and stepped into the hallways. She had prepared herself for the hallways, but somehow they were different from how she remembered, despite being the exact same. It hurt the inside of her head to see.

(Not in a headache way, though.)

The first door she tried this time did open as promised, and then she was standing in the front entryway to her flat.

“Oh.” She took a few steps to prove she really was where she thought she was. “This is… this works, actually.”

“See, what did I tell you?” Michael stood behind her. “I don’t lie.”

“Says the throat of delusion.” Sasha shook her head.

“I don't lie.” he grinned back. “Isn’t there something you’re forgetting to say?”

Sasha rolled her eyes, “Thank you, Michael.”

“And?”

Sasha took a moment to think of what he wanted now. “I’m sorry I doubted you.” it took all of her self control to keep it from coming out as a question.

“See?” Michael smiled, and for the first time that evening he looked less than human.

* * *

Sasha felt back up to snuff the next morning, and went to work as usual. She was sitting and typing when Tim joined her with a hug.

“Wonderful, amazing Sasha, how glorious to see that you are back.” he proclaimed.

“Good morning,” she said back, “What do you want?”

“Sasha!” He scolded, “I am offended. I am merely greeting my friend after a long leave of absence during which she fell ill.”

Sasha was Not Impressed. “Tim it was two days. The length of a normal weekend.”

“Yes, but it wasn’t the weekend.” he pouted, “I expect to have my weekdays with a dose of Sasha time. You robbed me of my Sasha time, Sash.”

She rolled her eyes. This was a game she was very good at, “I am ever so sorry, Tim,” she sighed, “Next time I will check in with you for permission before falling ill. Yes?”

“Yes, that is the proper way things are done around here,” Tim insisted, “I need at least forty-eight hours to prepare myself for the sight of your empty desk.”

Sasha hissed through her teeth, “Sorry, the best I can do in the future is thirty-six. Adequate?”

Tim took a moment to hum it over. “I’ll allow it. But only just.”

“Thank you for your patience.”

“Never let it be said that I do nothing for you.”

“Sasha,” Jon called from across the room, nodded towards his office, then left.

“Oh,” Tim said, “You’re in  _ trouble _ .”

Sasha all but laughed out loud, “I highly doubt that, Tim, he hasn’t been that unreasonable in quite a while.”

“Not since a little manufactured bed scarcity,” he did a very obvious wink, it took up most of his face.

“Tim, I highly doubt that there is bed scarcity of any kind.”

“I mean,” Tim leaned back, “The bed at Martin’s flat is no longer an option.”

“... are you implying  _ the worms _ were trying to get them together?”

“You said it, not me.”

Sasha didn’t know what to say to that, so she just walked away.

“In the future,” Jon said once the door was shut, “Could you refrain from chasing after creepy, unmarked vans then refusing to answer your phone for hours?”

“It wasn’t unmarked,” Was Sasha’s brilliant first response. “And my phone died.”

“Well yes, I gathered that,” Jon said. “What happened?”

“I chased after the van,” Sasha recounted, “Once we were out of central London the traffic went down and it got away from me. Then I had to walk home. My phone died somewhere in the middle.”

“Yes, well, kindly refrain from that.”

Sasha planned on arguing, but decided against it. He was obviously over tired and taking it out on her. “I’m a bit surprised you didn’t come hunt me down,” she said it like a joke, “Tim called me at five AM in the morning.” she rolled her eyes.

“Oh, I broke into your flat.”

“You what?”

“What? Tim does it all the time,” Jon said.

“I mean, yeah,” Sasha agreed, “But why?”

“You weren’t answering,” Jon said, like it was just that simple, “You were asleep, so I locked the door and left. I was just checking to make sure you were fine.”

Sasha really couldn’t fault him that. Hell, she’d probably do the same in his situation. “Alright,” she decided to let the topic drop.

“Did you find anything?” Jon asked.

Sasha relayed the intersection where she’d lost the van, “They turned right, I think,” then something Michael had said came to her, “And there was something about a Trophy Room too, not sure if that means anything, though.”

“That’s it?”

“I’m sorry,” Sasha said, “I was a bit busy being led on a wild goose chase across the city to do much follow-up, then I spent a day and a half sleeping it off. I’ll be sure to remember to do research somewhere in there too.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re fine,” Jon said. “Make sure to let me know if you find anything else, yeah?”

“Don’t worry,” Sasha smiled, “We’re in this one together. I’ll keep you posted.”

Sasha went back to her desk, where Tim had apparently never left.

“What was all that about?” he asked.

“I think it was his own version of a 5 AM wakeup call,” Sasha said. “It’s nothing, and these statements won’t digitize themselves.” she smiled. Tim didn’t look entirely convinced, but he did go across the aisle to work on his own tasks.

* * *

Sasha truly, deeply, did not like riding the train. It was fine, all things considered, and it certainly beat walking everywhere, but she still just did not like it. She liked people watching, sure, but the tube had far too many people for it, and they were all far too close for her liking.

So when a door appeared next to the entryway, she took it almost without having to debate. After all, if Michael was trying to harm her he would have done it by now. Rather than look at the halls, she shut her eyes and held her hands in front of her.

She stepped out into her own flat. “See, was that so hard?” Michael asked her.

“It was,” Sasha glanced behind her, but of course the door had already left. “Convenient. Thank you, Michael.”

“Of course, it’s no skin off my nose,” Michael smiled, “I’m glad you’ve finally found it within yourself to trust me.”

Sasha scoffed at the idea, “I don’t know if I’d say trust.”

* * *

On Thursday, Sasha realizes what’s wrong. Blackwood hasn’t been by the Archives in nearly a full week. “Have you seen Blackwood?” she asked Tim.

“No, not since last week,” Tim said, “Wonder what he’s up to.” he went back to making a stack of pringles on his desk.

“Really?” Sasha asked him, “My phone was ringing off the hook when I didn’t check in for a couple hours, but he’s missing for a week and you’re chill?”

“Sash,” Tim laughed like she’s the one being unreasonable, “I think out of all of us, he’s the one most capable of handling himself, yeah?”

Well, he probably wasn’t wrong. “I still don’t like it, though.”

“Aww, you’re worried,” Tim smiled, “Don’t worry, I’m sure he’s fine.”

Sasha all but rolled her eyes. She wasn’t worried about him, she was worried about whatever he was scheming about.

She glanced at the clock. It was about time for her to meet with Jon in the tunnels, in any case. Tim was enthralled with his food stacking, so he didn’t even look up when she went past. Martin was up in the library doing some other research.

“Oh, you beat me to it.” Sasha noted as she came down the ladder to the heavy smell of cigarette smoke. She briefly considered telling him to stop polluting the air, but ominous breezes were common enough to keep it breathable.

“Ah, yes.” Jon said, “I got a head start on it. I think I found something.”

“Well, then you’re doing better than me,” Sasha said, “What do you have?”

“I started digging around about a Trophy Room,” he said, shuffling through some papers. “Turns out, it’s a taxidermy shop. Or, well, there were lots of results, but the taxidermy shop stood out for obvious reasons.”

He slid a photo to her. Yep, those glass eyes were abnormally creepy. She said as much, “Perfectly fitting for creatures of uncanniness.” she noted.

“See why it stood out to me?” Jon said, “And, it’s also in the direction the van was heading in.”

“So, logic says they were probably delivering something.”

“Yes, but I don’t know if logic is necessarily the driving force here,” Jon said, “Hell, they could just be working together and using the shop as a homebase. Maybe they keep the exceptionally creepy taxidermies in a basement where they hold all the spooky rituals.”

“That seems awfully stereotypical,” Sasha said.

“I think we can afford to stereotype the monsters,” Jon said drolly, “And what was it Blackwood said? Dream logic? Maybe the stereotyped stuff works because that’s what people think of when thinking about occult rituals.”

Sasha had to give him that, “So there’s a pretty decent chance they’ve got a creepy, ritual cult thing going on in the basement.” she looked at the satellite image Jon provided, “When are we going to check it out?”

“Tomorrow evening?” Jon suggested, “I would hope most folk would have better things to do on a Friday evening than hang around an old taxidermy shop.”

“And hopefully the monsters are too busy going out and scaring drunks to bother us,” Sasha agreed.

* * *

Tim picked up his phone on the second ring, as he had been busy in the kitchen making popcorn. It was Martin calling, “Hey, what’s up?” he said.

“Hey Tim,” Martin sounded tired, “So, I think Jon and Sasha are about to do something stupid.”

Now, Tim would believe that in an instant, but he needed more information, “How so?”

“So. Jon was trying to sneak out, but I caught him,” Martin started, then seemed to rethink that last phrase, “I mean, it’s not like I’m tracking his movements or holding him hostage, or anything! It’s a small flat and I noticed he was leaving, and doing it very suspiciously, I don’t tend to-”

“Yes, Martin, I get it,” Tim cut him off, because Martin had a tendency to ramble. “Small flat, everyone hears everything, he was acting suspicious. And then?”

“Well, I asked him what was up - y’know, causally, although he totally looked like he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, and he told me that he was going out with friends.”

Tim snorted, “He has no friends.”

“Well, that’s mean,” Martin said. “He has us.”

“Okay, that is true, and I amend my previous statement.” Tim said, “He has no friends that we do not know about.”

“Exactly,” Martin said, “And so far every time we’ve gotten him to hang out with us it’s been like pulling teeth, so even if he does have secret friends, I doubt they’re the type to go out on a Friday. Especially not in  _ cardigans. _ ”

“Uh, what about the girls?” Tim asked, “Georgie and Melanie. Maybe they’re doing a thing without us - not that I would resent that, but y’know, it’s a thing.”

“Yeah, I did think of that,” Martin said, “So I called Georgie, told her basically exactly what I’ve told you, and she agrees that it’s weird, and apparently she hasn’t been in contact with Jon recently either.”

“Can’t say I’m surprised,” Tim said, “Anyways, what about Sasha? Maybe they’re doing a nerd thing-”

“No, Tim, I wasn’t done; it gets worse.”

Tim fully groaned at that one, “I don’t want it to get worse,” he fully accepted and owned the fact that he was whining.

“Georgie asked if I’d seen Blackwood recently. Apparently he hasn’t been around since Saturday.” Martin said.

“Since Saturday?” Tim asked, though he wasn’t necessarily looking for an answer. “That’s better than us. Last time he was around was Friday.”

“Yeah, that’s what I told her.” Martin sighed, “Apparently he’s been answering texts but nothing else. Why do I get the feeling that his whole thing and Jon’s thing are the same?”

“Because they probably are.” Tim said, “Have you spoken to Sasha?”

“I got sent straight to voicemail.”

“Well, Jon’s statement of being out with friends might not be too off.” Tim said, “What do you think are the chances he and Sasha are off being stupid together?”

“They totally are.”

* * *

Jon and Sasha met at the train station, as neither of them knew how to drive and there was no way they were going to walk. “You’ve got the instructions?” Sasha asked.

“Yes, printed them out and everything.” Jon held up an honest-to-god briefcase. “What?” he asked when Sasha burst out laughing.

“It’s just-” Sasha paused to get another bout of laughing out of the way, “We’re staking out some creepy taxidermy shop and you brought a briefcase.”

Jon turned bright red and pouted, “It’s useful,” he insisted.

“Yeah,” Sasha looked at him and laughed again, “Yeah, I’m sure you thought it out. I’m just - I’m sorry.”

“Technology gets  _ weird _ around the supernatural,” Jon explained his reasoning to her, “So I decided to print instructions, so we don’t get stranded with no way out. And a briefcase is the best way to store printed documents, it’s rigid. They won’t bend.”

“And it makes a good melee weapon.” Sasha added, with only a slight giggle.

Jon tested it in his hands, careful not to hit any innocent passersby. “Yes, actually,” he concluded. 

“Oh, well in that case,” Sasha chuckled.

They got off the train a few blocks away from the taxidermy shop and walked the rest of the way. It was a pleasant enough evening, and the strip mall was starting to get near deserted. Then the Trophy Room came into view.

At a distance, it didn’t look like anything special. It was the last store on the edge of a strip mall, with a front door for customers and an unmarked side door - presumably for staff and deliveries and such. 

(And occult things, of course.)

The light in the store was still on - a possibility Sasha hadn’t considered until they were on the train. There were also people inside, someone behind the till and another person talking with them.

“Oh shoot,” Sasha said, “Someone beat us to it.”

“Wait a second,” Jon said, “Is that  _ Blackwood? _ ”

That caused Sasha to do a double-take. Yes, this apparent customer had the right build to be Blackwood, but he was backlit from inside. Then she saw the earphones he was still wearing, that about sealed the deal for her. “Almost definitely.” she said. “What is he doing here?”

“Only one way to find out,” Jon said and slipped in the unmarked side door. Apparently they just kept it unlocked, probably figured normal humans wouldn’t dare sneak into their lair. Sasha did a quick check up and down the block before following him.

It was… certainly creepy. Taxidermied animals sat on shelves and hung mounted on the walls, all with little paper tags too faded to read hanging off them. Sasha knew it was probably ridiculous, but she could’ve sworn all the eyes had swiveled to face her.

“... I was wondering if you could do an appraisal?” that was Blackwood’s voice, sounding more uncertain than Sasha had heard him.

“Depends,” said the bored shop attendant, with something just slightly to the left in her voice. “What is it? I can’t appraise it if I don’t know it.”

“Yes, well, it’s really old, see,” Blackwood said, “I’ve not got it here. I don’t really want to move it, I’m afraid it would just - _ poof _ \- and dissolve, y’know?”

“How old, exactly?” the shop attendant sounded interested now.

“I don’t, I don’t really know, to be honest.” Blackwood laughed, “It was, I bought a storage unit? You know, when there’s an abandoned unit, sometimes the shop will auction off the contents. So I start poking around and it’s absolutely chock full of creepy shit, stuff, sorry,” he tittered nervously.

“... right.” Said the shop attendant. “What is it a taxidermy of?”

“Oh, some sort of monkey, I think?” Blackwood mused. “Well, except it’s really big. Might be a gorilla of some sort? I dunno, I was planning on just giving it to some charity shop, but I figured I might as well stop by? See if you want it?”

“Yes, thank you for stopping by,” the attendant was different now, she sounded hungry. “We would be happy to take a look at this old taxidermy. Where was it, did you say?”

“In a storage locker,” Blackwood rattled off the address of a storage locker, with Sasha quickly typing it into her phone. They’d check that out, too.

“Thank you,” the attendant said, “Our main curator is busy at the moment, but I’m sure she’d love to see this. Are you available at noon tomorrow?”

“Yes, that works just fine for me,” Blackwood said, “I’ll meet you at the gate?”

“Yes, we’ll see you there.”

The bell rang as the front door opened.

Then Jon knocked over a taxidermy rabbit. He caught it before it hit the ground, face gone absolutely white, but the damage was already done. Sasha didn’t even breathe.

The door to the shop opened, and a woman came through. She looked normal enough, but her eyes looked dead and unnatural. Guess they were correct about this being an occult stronghold, then. 

“I  _ knew _ I could sense someone  _ watching _ me,” she spat with enough vitriol to make Sasha’s stomach churn. “Too late.  _ We’re _ getting the skin this time, the Eye won’t stop us.” she hissed, and grinned a bit.

Whatever  _ that _ was about, it didn't matter. What mattered was that she looked angry and mean.

Jon’s brain apparently rebooted faster than Sasha’s, and he threw the taxidermy hare at the woman, and took off running with Sasha hot at his heels.

After a couple blocks the woman - Sarah? Her name tag was something beginning with an S, and Sasha wasn’t yet jaded enough to simply assume this thing shared her name - was still hot on their heels and gaining. Jon, bless his heart, was slowing down.

“Split up,” she muttered to him, nudging him in the direction of an alleyway. “Go!”

He did, and she turned around to make a face at the woman. Sasha knew for sure she saw it, and when she made the next turn the Sarah-or-whatever was chasing her and not Jon. Great. Now she just had to figure out how to get herself out of this shit situation.

As if on cue, a bright yellow door appeared on the side of the building between one blink and the other. She made sure to slam the door behind her, and jogged a few extra steps to work off her momentum. Michael, helpfully, put a wall in the way for her to run into.

(Did she notice when her phone had fallen out of her pocket?)

She sat with her head between her legs and put extra effort into breathing correctly. When she felt better, she lifted her head and looked around only to immediately put it back down. The hallways were swirling now, almost menacingly and it churned her stomach.

“This-” she huffed after another moment and another check how the halls were doing. Still trying to make her vomit. “This isn’t funny Michael.”

Neither the spinning walls nor the bowling-alley carpet responded to her.

She waited another moment and another motion-induced dry heave before standing again. “I mean, thank you for saving my ass, but you couldn’t have been more timely about it?” she kept her eyes resolutely closed. It didn’t help, her inner ears still yelled at her that something was Not Right.

She started walking, trying doors and running into mirrors. One painting came away in her hands when she got angry and started punching things. “This isn’t funny, Michael,” she shouted again after the fifteenth (or so, counting was  _ hard _ all of a sudden) door refused to open. She’d slammed into so many mirrors that she’d just stopped counting.

She just had to keep walking, keep trying doors.

Michael had helped her too many times to abandon her now. She just had to keep trying.

She just had to keep walking.

Keep trying.

Keep walking.

Keep Trying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)


	20. Get your popcorn, we're airing our grievances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One step forward, two steps back

_ She was doing that on purpose, _ Jon muttered as they left the shop. His voice was more staticky than usual, clinging to and dripping off his words.

“Doing what?” Martin asked.

_ You could feel it, _ Jon said,  _ that headache. She was, like, polluting the air with her Stranger-ness. Making it hell for me to even see stuff with a little s. _

The pressure behind Martin’s eyes was not deserving of the title of headache, but he could see what Jon meant. “I’m sorry I dawdled.” Martin said.

_ No, no, it’s fine, _ Jon said,  _ probably for the best she thought you were a fool. _

“Think she could sense you?”

_ No, I think I was too decentralized. She knew she was being watched, but thought you were too stupid to be the one watching her. _

“I’m a little offended by that, actually.”

_ Well, better to be under-estimated then surprise them later. _ Jon said.  _ Can we please get away from here faster? Please? _

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Martin picked up his pace and started to hustle. After a few blocks the static started to fade to normal levels, and Martin slowed down again. “Do you think we should call the others?”

_ Why? _ Jon asked,  _ We’ve been getting along very well without them recently. _

“Yes, but we did say we would try to keep them better informed right before disappearing for a week.” Martin pointed out, “And, I do still want to give Tim the option of getting his revenge. Could be, y’know, cathartic for him. In a controlled environment.”

_ What, are you just going to call them out of the blue - “Hey kids, wanna shove a clown-mannequin monster down a Really Big Hole?” _ Jon laughed before he could finish his sentence.

Martin laughed too, “You do have a point there.” he said, “They could use a bit more weirdness in their life, yeah? They’ve had it too good for too long.” he shook his fist like he was angry at the sky, but it was just a joke. “No, I’ll tell them in person.”

_ Looking like you just crawled out of a sewer. _ Jon added.

“It’s not my fault Daisy shows up every time I get settled,” Martin complained. He’s already had to abandon one set of clothes at a laundromat. It was just sheer luck he’d been cautious enough to leave a few changes of clothes for himself in the tunnels.

_ Yeah, she sucks like that. _ Jon said.

Martin’s phone lit up with responses to his message ( _ Hey, bit of an emergent situation, meet me at the Archives. _ ), with Tim, past-Martin and past-Jon all agreeing that they were on their way, and asking what was wrong.

_ Old-Martoo _ (Tim chose the names) _ : it’s too much to explain over text. Meet me there and I’ll explain. Unlock the trapdoor for me. _

Without waiting for an agreement, Martin climbed into the nearest tunnel entrance. This one was an entire pothole, right in the middle of the street, but Martin had long since learned that he can get away with doing a lot of things if he just looks confident while doing it.

It helps that big-guy-in-a-cardigan is not exactly what most people think of when they think of a criminal.

He dropped the last foot or so after the ladder ended, and wiped himself of imaginary dust.

_ You do that every time, _ Jon said.

“I like to keep my clothes looking neat,” was all Martin said, though he pointedly wiped his jumper a few more times. It was nice, soothing. A good texture under his hands. “Are you-”

_ Yes, I’m fine. _ Well, Jon didn’t need to sound so damn  _ fond _ about it.

“Yeah, yeah,” Martin blushed and started moving through the tunnels. He wanted to move fast, he didn’t like not having any signal while the others were still talking to him.

He made it to the trapdoor in - well, it probably wasn’t record time simply for the fact that he’d never timed himself before. Maybe he should time himself, that would be useful to know for the future. In any case, he made it to the trapdoor very quickly.

Past-Jon was already loitering at the base of the ladder, next to a half-assedly cleaned pile of ashes and cigarette butts. The cleaning job didn’t hide much, though, considering he was smoking when they walked up.

Martin must have made a face, because past-Jon grimaced and stomped out the cigarette. “What, did you call us all here to lecture me?” he shoved his hands in his pockets and glared. “I’d assumed you already  _ knew _ .”

“No, I am not here to lecture you,” Martin said, “I’m sure you already know what I’m going to say, and it won’t change your mind. Are the others here?”

“Everyone but Sasha,” past-Jon went up the ladder. He was more unsteady than normal, and perhaps a bit… winded? But even past-Jon wasn’t weak enough to be winded by a set of stairs.

_ He’s just scared? _ Jon offered, but even that sounded like a justification.

“I know, but good lord.” Martin shook his head and followed up into the Archives.

Tim, past-Martin and past-Jon were all already waiting, sitting on their respective desks and staring at him.

“Is Sasha coming?” Martin asked, sitting on his own desk and pulling out his headphones so Jon could interact with everyone, too.

“I dunno,” Tim said, trying to sound far more casual than he felt, it was all in the eyes, “She hasn’t responded yet.” he held up his phone.

“Hm. Right.” Martin glanced at his own phone, but it didn’t look like she’d even read it yet. “So, do you want me to start talking now, or wait until she turns up?”

Past-Martin and Tim made eye contact. “We’ll catch her up,” Tim said, “What was so important that you dragged us away from our Friday evening plans?”

“So, Daisy, remember that one murder police woman?, yeah she’s definitely out to murder me.”

Tim just about choked on air. Apparently, whatever he was thinking of, this wasn’t it.

“Sorry,  _ what? _ ” past-Martin demanded.

“Yeah, it was a definite risk this whole time,” Martin just shrugged. “She gets, y’know, murder-y when dealing with monsters, and has decided I fall under the category of monster.”

“Are you?” Past-Jon asked.

“Am I what?”

“A monster.”

Martin sighed. This was an expected question, but a bad time. Also, what answer did he expect? “By Daisy’s definition… probably? Her definition does change to suit her own needs, though. Pretty much, anyone she wants to kill becomes a monster and there’s no way to convince her otherwise.”

“So why does she want to kill you?” Tim asked.

“Probably she found some of the super spooky stuff while investigating, and decided I was the one at the head of it all,” Martin shrugged. “I did look rather competent when she came to clean up after the whole Worm Fiasco. Any more questions?”

“What if she decides to come after us?” past-Martin asked.

“Uh, run?” Martin said, “You don’t have a ton of options usually. She’s a very good Hunter. She’s probably decided that I’m the problem, and that I was in some way controlling you all, though. She may even think she’s doing you a favor. You’re probably fine.”

“Was that it, or?” Tim asked.

“Yes, I was getting there,” Martin said, “Tim, how would you like to help me shove the Circus down a Really Big Hole.”

Tim froze. “Like…  _ The _ Circus?”

“Yes,” Martin said, “I’ve set a trap for them, should spring it tomorrow at noon. It’s short notice and a bit less elegant than I was hoping for but, well, Daisy and Elias have forced my hand.”

“Elias?” past-Jon asked, “How is he involved?”

_ “He caught on to our credit fraud.” _ Jon said,  _ “Reported our card stolen to the bank. I’m not quite sure what he’s planning, but he certainly did that to send a message.” _

“You stole _ Elias’ _ credit card?” past-Martin asked. He had stopped sitting and started pacing along one wall, while past-Jon spun around in his seat. Tim was the only one sitting still.

“Not Elias’,” Martin corrected, “Just a… colleague of his. Should have figured he’d have access to Peter’s financials. Nosy bastard.”

“Peter - Peter Lukas?” past-Jon said, “Like, like the Institute’s biggest donor?”

“Yep! That's the one,” Martin said, “Real nasty bugger he is. And, we thought, he didn’t check his financials enough for it to matter.”

“ _ I still don’t think he did,” _ Jon added, “ _ Especially since the Tundra is still at sea, and I highly doubt they have internet or phone. More likely Elias noticed and cut us off. Of course he has access to Peter’s financials.” _

“Wonder if Peter even knows that,” Martin scoffed.

“ _ I’d say there’s a fifty-fifty.” _

“Anyway, back to the Circus,” Tim said, “What do you mean when you say you’re going to shove them down a really big hole.”

“About what it sounds,” Martin said, “I have an artefact of the Buried - a coffin that is essentially an endless hole - and I’m going to shove them in it. There’s a taxidermied gorilla they really want to have, so I told them I have it to lure them out.”

“A taxidermy gorilla?” Jon asks.

“Yeah. it’s part of their world-ending ritual.” Martin explained, “Which they are ramping up to, technically. It won’t work in any case, but the failed rituals can still have bad consequences. Gertrude stole and destroyed the skin to delay them, and I’ll delay them even further by shoving their dancer into the Buried.”

“That sounds a bit…” Tim trailed off.

“Simplistic? Anticlimactic?” Martin volunteered words for it, “Yeah, but it’s harder to mess up something that’s simple. Why add more steps when this works well enough?”

“Why delay?” past-Jon asked, “Why not stop it entirely?”

“ _ It’s impossible.” _ Jon said, “ _ There is nothing we can do to entirely stop a ritual, save interrupting in the middle, and even that’s more like hitting the reset button. Interrupting it in the middle usually involves at least one death.” _

“Me.” Tim provided. “That’s how I died last time, isn’t it. Doing something to stop the ritual.”

“Yes.” Martin admits. “We, ah, acquired a lot of C4, and you were the one to set it off. You were also inside the building, though.”

“ _ Semtex, actually. _ ” Jon added. “ _ Not all plastic explosives are the same. Visually, C4 is white while semtex is-” _

“Not the time,” Martin interrupted. Everyone in the room looked faintly ill.

“ _ Ah, right. Sorry.” _ Jon said, “ _ Though, to be fair, I died in the explosion too. I just… got better.” _

“You,” past-Jon did air-quotes, “Got better?”

“ _ For a certain definition of better. I mean, I wasn’t dead anymore. _ ”

That did not help the mood of the room. The tension was thick enough to be cut by a knife.

“... Anyways.” Martin said, “Tim, if you’d like, you’d be welcome to come help out. Though, it may be a bit anticlimactic, I could use an extra set of hands. The rest of you too, I suppose.”

“Yes.” Tim decided. “Yes, I think I will come by to help out. Where is this?”

“I’ll just send out the address in the group chat.” Martin took out his phone to do exactly that, “Show up at, let’s say, eleven-thirty? So that way I have time to explain the plan to you and we can get set up.”

“I’ll be there,” past-Jon agreed, and past-Martin echoed. Martin internal dreaded the number of people he’d have to cram into such a little space, but then he got over it. It wasn’t a bad thing to have more people present, more hands to help.

He glanced down at his phone. Sasha still hadn’t even read any of the messages. Even if she’d been somewhere without service when the first message was sent, she should be out now, unless something bad happened.

“So,” he asked, “When’s the last time any of you heard from Sasha?”

“I walked with her to the train station after work.” Tim said, “So, about five thirty?”

“I called her about an hour and a half ago,” past-Martin said, “But I got sent straight to voicemail.”

Everyone turned to past-Jon and he squirmed under the pressure. “I, we, ah, well,” he stuttered.

“ _ Oh fuck,” _ Jon said, “ _ You two were at the Trophy Room.” _

“You were  _ where? _ ” Martin asked and glared at him.

“What?” asked Tim.

“Yes,” past-Jon admitted, “We were there to check it out. Sasha said it looked suspicious.”

Martin dragged a hand down his face. “You didn’t notice?” he tilted his head to ask to the side. And yes, his tone was a bit more combative than normal but he was also extremely stressed.

“ _ I’m sorry,” _ Jon shot back in kind, “ _ I’ve been a bit busy avoiding Daisy and dealing with all the Stranger’s ooze over there. Of course they slipped through the cracks.” _

“Is anyone going to tell me what the Trophy Room is?” Tim interrupted loudly.

Martin glared at past-Jon before speaking, “It’s one of the locations the Stranger works out of, it’s a taxidermy shop. They use it to collect and store creepy taxidermy, which is pretty obvious. I was there earlier as part of setting up my trap.”

Past-Jon at least noticed that was his cue to speak. “Me and Sasha were there investigating. We snuck in through the back entrance, but the attendant noticed us and chased us.” there was probably a lot he was hiding there, but it was a start.

“You ran,” Martin nodded, “Okay, and obviously you made it out, what about Sasha?”

“I - I don’t know.” He admitted. “We split up. The thing chased after her and not me. I’ve been calling her, the first couple times it went to voicemail, but then she texted me about being on the tube or something?”

“ _ She’s not on the tube, _ ” Jon clarified before anything else could be said on the matter. “ _ I don’t - I don’t know where she is.” _

“So what does that mean?” past-Martin said.

“Well, she probably isn’t dead, then,” Martin said, “I think we’d know if she were dead.”

“ _ Not dead yet.” _

“Can you  _ please _ not start ominously intoning while I’m thinking? Thanks.” Martin got up and started pacing, “Anyways, she’s somewhere where we can’t see her. Best case scenario she’s in the tunnels, worst case,” he trailed off.

“What’s the worst case?” Tim asked.

“Worst case is someone has her,” Martin said, “I don’t really know who. The Stranger, maybe. It would make sense.”

“ _ The Stranger likes bragging, though,” _ Jon countered, “ _ I mean, it’s definitely a very real possibility, but I don’t know. How did you two even figure out about the Trophy Room?” _

“It was Sasha who found it,” past-Jon shrugged. “She found it after following that moving van? Breekon and Hope?”

Martin stopped mid-pace and sighed very deeply. “Are you telling me,” he tried very hard to keep his voice level, “That Sasha went off on her own and  _ chased down an unmarked moving van that is the exact same thing as seen in movies where someone is kidnapped and is also driven by Strangers?” _

“Well, when you phrase it like that it sounds bad,” past-Jon said.

“That’s because it is bad!” Martin said, “Holy shit!”

“Wait, when did this happen?” Tim asked.

“After the museum last weekend,” past-Jon admitted. “They drove by while me and Sasha were outside the cafe.”

“So you lied,” Tim said, “About her having to leave early. You lied so she could go and do her whole monster hunting thing without any backup.”

“Guys.” past-Martin tried to interrupt, “Now is really not the time-”

“Sit down, Martin,” Tim snapped, “This is exactly the time. You let Sasha chase after a van full of monsters alone? Without telling anyone?”

“You would have tried to stop us,” past-Jon stood to be on level with Tim and gave as good as he got. “We wanted answers, but  _ you _ were just content to sit there and twiddle your thumbs.”

“Damn right I would have tried to stop her!” Tim shouted, “Ho-ly shit! That’s dangerous! I knew I was most of the Archives impulse control, but I didn’t think it was that bad. But if I couldn’t stop her I would have at least come with! Not just let her run off on her own!”

“What are you accusing me of?” past-Jon asked.

“Really,  _ really _ , bad decision making!”

“Guys,” past-Martin tried again, “This really isn’t useful.”

Martin stood to the side talking with Jon. He didn’t get involved, because he also did not have many kind words for past-Jon at this moment, and past-Martin was correct in that it wasn’t helpful. “So, what are our options?”

“ _ Wait? _ ” Jon suggested, “ _ Until we know what’s going on, there’s not really much else we can do. I say we still go after the Circus, though. At least that way we eliminate one threat. _ ”

“And maybe if the Circus is involved in this, they’ll brag about her in some way. Hell, in that case it’d probably be more beneficial to have someone obviously tied to the Institute there. They might boast a bit, get sloppy.”

_ “Other than that, what else is there,” _ Jon mused aloud, “ _ Who else can hide her from us?” _

“And what are you two whispering about?” Tim interrupted.

“It’s called strategizing, Tim,” Martin said, “We’re making a game plan.”

“Ok, great,” Tim said, “So what’s the plan?”

“ _ We’ve had all of five minutes.” _ Jon shot back.

“We’re sticking with the same plan for now,” Martin said, “Show up at the storage unit tomorrow, deal with the Circus. They like to brag, so hopefully they’ll tell us if they have Sasha then. In this case, all of you should come, especially Jon, since they saw you with her.”

“So, Sasha’s missing and we’re just going to ignore her?” Tim asked. “Just go and do other things.”

“Tim, I don’t know if you noticed, but we don’t have any information,” Martin said, “We are going in blind. So for now, we are fixing the problem that we know how to fix while keeping an eye out for information on the Sasha issue.”

“We’re losing time!”

“ _ I was kidnapped by the Circus for a whole month and I’m fine,” _ Jon offered, as if he hadn’t completely repressed that time with the Circus to the point where he didn’t remember any of it.

“A month?” past-Martin asked.

“Christ this just keeps getting worse.” Martin muttered.

“On the contrary,” said someone else, “I’m finding this all very enlightening,”

“Michael?” Martin turned to him after having about half a heart attack. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, now I’m not feeling like I’m welcome here.” he shrugged and looked away, pouting in ways the human face should not be able to move.

“ _ That’s because you’re not.” _

“Wow, harsh.” Michael leaned back, lounging across Sasha’s desk and ate popcorn off his knife-fingers like shish kebabs. Other than his obvious amusement, he didn’t seem to care much what was going on around him.

“Michael, why are you here?” Martin asked again.

“What, am I not allowed to be a part of  _ supremely _ dysfunctional team meetings?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Hi, yeah, who’s this?” past-Jon asked.

“ _ Michael, one of the other monsters we told Sasha to avoid,” _ Jon provided, “ _ And let me guess, she didn’t follow that rule too closely either.” _

“No, I believe she followed it exactly as you told it to her,” Michael recounted, “No meeting creepy men in cemeteries after dark.”

Martin sat for a moment, doing the mental maths. “Did she really loophole herself out of something I said  _ to keep her safe? _ ”

“ _ She absolutely did. _ ”

“I need to start getting these things in writing.”

“Why are you here?” past-Jon asked.

“Aw, someone’s angry,” Michael cooed. “And, can I not just be here because I want to see what you boys are up to?”

“Absolutely not.” Martin said. “Could you please leave and come back some other time? We’re a bit busy, if you couldn’t tell.”

“I won’t.” Michael smiled, dipped his hand in his pocket and came back with more popcorn.

“How did you even get here?” Tim asked.

“A Door.”

“ _ A place where I can’t see…” _ Jon muttered.

“What?” past-Jon asked, but Martin caught on.

“Michael,” he said, “Give Sasha back.”

“No,” Michael said, “No, I don’t think I will.”

“What?” Tim asked, “You have Sasha?” he stood and got in Michael’s face.

“I do not appreciate this treatment.” Michael made his displeasure known, but kept eating popcorn.

“Tim, Tim, get back,” past-Jon tugged on Tim’s elbow.

“I mean,” past-Martin also got closer, though not as close as Tim did. “He is very outnumbered.”

Michael laughed like nails on a chalkboard. “Oh, please do try.”

“Back up, all of you.” Martin said, “You’ll just get yourselves hurt. What do you want with Sasha, Michael?”

“Why, she came to me,” Michael waved a hand, flicking bits of popcorn and butter around, “Looking for information, can you believe it? Me!” 

“Yes, fascinating.” past-Martin agreed. “When you’re obviously such a good influence.”

“Thank you!” Michael smiled too widely to be human. “And, at least  _ I _ don’t lie, unlike a certain Archivist of yours.”

Past-Jon stuttered and looked confused. “What? I-”

“How cute, he thinks everything is about him,” Michael rolled his eyes in a very literal sense of the word. “I think we know who’s really the Archivist, though.” he stared at Martin pointedly.

“That’s a title that could apply to me, sure,” Martin admitted, holding Jon tight. They’d both figured it out a while ago, it made sense. Jon was the Archives, Martin the Archivist. That’s not what defined them. “I don’t use it.”

“Still true. The Archives and the Archivist.” Michael giggled. “And a certain someone got  _ so concerned _ about what you weren’t telling her that she came to me. And now she belongs to me.”

“No she does not!” Tim interrupted, “You can say this confusing stuff until the cows come home, I don’t care, just release Sasha!”

Michael leaned away from him and glared. He glanced at Martin again, “I think you need a tighter leash.” he said.

“I think you need to leave.” Martin said.

“Sure,” Michael shrugged, “The damage has been done. It’ll be fun to watch you turn on each other. Toodles.” he opened up a door in Sasha’s desk and disappeared.

“Toodles…?” past-Martin repeated. 

“What just happened?” Tim demanded.

“Michael has Sasha.” Martin repeated. He thought that was obvious, but sure, force him to repeat it again and paint himself as the bearer of bad news.

“And what does that mean?”

“ _ That she’s gone,” _ Jon said, “ _ That now she’s trapped in a nigh-infinite hellscape where she can neither escape nor die. Is that the answer you wanted?” _

“What? No, of course not!”

“ _ Too bad.” _

“There’s gotta be something we can do.” past-Martin said.

“Yeah, what’s the new plan?” past-Jon asked.

“The new plan?” Martin tried very hard not to scoff. “Take care of the Stranger.”

“And?” Tim prompted.

“And what?” Martin said, “It’s too late for Sasha.” he was upset, yeah, but that only came out as anger. At her, at himself, all of them. But now, it was time to put out fires he knew how to put out. He didn’t have time for a meltdown, much less time to deal with Tim’s.

“You want us to give up?” past-Jon asked, “Bullshit, there’s got to be something we can do.”

“The time to do something was before Sasha started hanging out with Michael,” Martin shouted, because he was pissed. “I can’t do anything now! The time to do something was at the beginning.”

“We can- we can just go into those hallways or whatever and get her,” past-Martin offered an idea, “There’s more of us than him, we could take him!”

“ _ You misunderstand,” _ Jon said, voice popping and cracking. “ _ Michael doesn’t live in the hallways or something, he  _ is _ the hallways. Nothing happens in there that he isn’t aware of or doesn’t know about.” _

“And how do you know so much?” Tim scoffed.

“ _ Because I’ve been in there, and it sucks. It’s super disorienting, and nothing works right in there, and there is nothing we can do now.” _

“I have too, for that matter,” Martin added, “Trust us. We want to help, that’s the whole reason we’re here. It’s not possible. If we could help, we would.”

“So that’s it? You’re not even going to try?” Tim asked.

“ _ Tim, I have tried,” _ Jon said, “ _ This isn’t the only time someone’s been taken by the Distortion right in front of me. There’s nothing we can do. These things are so much more powerful than us.” _

“But apparently you’re one of them, huh?” Tim asked, “The Archives? What the hell does that mean?”

“ _ It means about what it sounds like,” _ Jon said, “ _ But it’s also so hard to explain. I am a collection of fears might be the best way to put it, but even that doesn’t make much sense. But what’s the difference? You’ve known I’m not human this whole time, it shouldn’t be a big surprise to you. It shouldn’t change anything.” _

“It’s still something you could have mentioned,” Tim said, “Just, I dunno, a casual, ‘oh yeah, I’m also one of these entities now,’”

“Tim, that is not at all what is going on,” Martin interrupted him. “And we don’t introduce ourselves as that because that’s not what we identify as, we don’t think like that and we don’t act like that. It’s not relevant to anything and it shouldn’t change anything.”

“I think we should all leave now,” past-Martin interrupted. “Because as is, we're just going to scream until we’re hoarse and not sort anything out.”

“Oh look at you, trying to take the high ground-”

“Tim, this is exactly what I mean,” he said. “I think we all just need some distance. I’ll still come to the unit tomorrow. No point in abandoning something when we’re so close to a solution.”

“Fine,” Tim stalked to the stairs and went up. Past Jon and Martin left together. Martin went back into the tunnels via the trapdoor.

“ _ That could have gone a lot better.” _

“No shit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Yes, Sarah in the Trophy Room did notice tape!jon, but she assumed he was with past-jon and sasha! it made her angrier)  
> and.... it has officially hit the fan!


	21. Cops and Circuses

How the hell did anyone expect Tim to just go home and sleep after all  _ that _ . He made it home, sure, but then he just kept pacing after that. He couldn’t sit still, how could he. He needed to go get Sasha.

“But  _ no _ , that’s  _ impossible _ ,” he muttered to himself.

He hadn’t much cared what was possible when it was Danny, and he didn’t care now.

And it hurt, dammit. Sasha hadn’t trusted him enough to let him in on this. They were research buddies, they had broken so many rules and laws together. Where on earth did she get the assumption that he would refuse to break some more?

It hurt too much to sit still. So, simply, he didn’t.

At ten in the morning there was pounding on his door. He ignored it, for all intents and purposes, he was not home today. He was angry.

Whoever it was, they were persistent. Five minutes later they started yelling, “Open up Tim, I know you’re in there!” Martin shouted.

So, Martin was here. Jon was probably with him, it seemed like they always showed up at places together nowadays. Whenever Jon wasn’t running off on some harebrained scheme, apparently. “Tim, open the door or we break in,” Martin shouted.

We. That confirms it then.

He doesn’t want them to come in, but he doesn’t want the property manager to bitch him out for damage, so he unlocked the door and walked away. Now it’s just on them to figure out they can come in.

They opened the door and came in, walked into the kitchen to find Tim on his fifth cup of coffee. They have no way to know it’s his fifth cup, of course, given that he’s been reusing the same cup, but he just leans against the counter and glares.

“Good, there you are.” Martin lets himself in, followed behind by Jon. They lean against the wall nearest the door. “I thought I was going to have to break in.”

“And if I wasn’t here?”

“Ah, you’re still on my Find my iPhone,” Jon pointed out, holding up his phone. “From that time you lost your phone but actually it was in your desk. I mean, it showed you were at your neighbor’s, but we just assumed you were here instead.”

“What do you want, a medal?” Tim sipped his coffee. It was pitch black and hot as hell, but caffeine was caffeine. His natural energy had run out long ago, but store bought worked just as well. “Congrats, you found me at my own home.”

Martin sighed deeply. “Look Tim, we’re not here to fight you. We’re on your side.” he said, “So, go take a shower, you’re filthy.”

Tim sniffed himself. He disagreed. “Besides,” he said, “I’m not planning on going anywhere.”

“Yes we are.” Jon said, “We’re going to the storage unit.”

“What?” Tim asked, “No I’m not. I am not going to help Blackwood after he refused to help Sasha.”

“Oh, get over yourself.” Martin said, “We’re all upset about Sasha. And we’re not going it to help Blackwood, we’re doing it to hurt the Circus. Can you at least get behind that?”

Tim glanced between them. A fortified front. Dammit, he’s going to go along with this no matter what, isn’t he. “Fine.” he spat.

“Great,” Martin agreed, “Now go shower. It’ll make you feel better.”

“Doubt it,” Tim said, but showered anyways. He knew how useless it was to interfere when Martin was on the warpath.

He didn’t want to admit it, but he did feel better after the shower. Damn it.

Jon and Martin were still waiting in the kitchen, Martin standing at the counter with the kettle. He had apparently also raided the fridge, as he had milk and sugars with him too. Jon was poking at the coffee maker.

“It’s not that hard,” Tim took over for him, grabbing one of the single-serve coffee cups and popping it in. A few buttons and the machine was humming and burping as it started up.

“Very loud,” Jon said.

“It’s old, but if it’s not broke don’t fix it.” Tim said. When his drink was done he added the requisite amounts of milk and sugar to make coffee edible rather than just a vessel for getting caffeine. “So, what are we doing?”

“We’re taking care of the Stranger,” Martin said, “Because that’s one more item off our list. Then we work on getting Sasha back.”

“And how do you propose we do that?” Tim asked. 

Martin went through the motions of making tea while Jon spoke, “We research it. We don’t have a plan yet, but that doesn’t mean we won’t have a plan. We’ve got hundreds of statements in the archives, one of them’s got to be useful here.”

“Alright.” Tim agreed. “Oh, don’t look so shocked. I’m not unreasonable.”

“But you are sleep deprived,” Martin said without missing a beat, “We know that you can get grumpy when you’re tired.”

“Or absolutely manic,” Jon said, “Which is a different type of problem here.”

“Oh, no, no, no,” Tim said, “You two do not get to lecture me on my behavior when tired. You two are so much worse than me,”

“I know and accept that,” Martin said, “Which is why I wasn’t lecturing, I was stating.”

“Fine,” Tim admitted. “We deal with the Circus, then we deal with Sasha.”

“Yes.” Jon agreed, “We’re not giving up on her.”

They arrived at the storage unit when they said they would, eleven-thirty on the dot. Blackwood was already loitering near the front gate, he lit up and waved when he saw them.

“I’m glad you came,” He said, smiling at them each in turn.

“I’m just here to get rid of the Circus.” Tim said. He crossed his arms, made it clear that he did not like Blackwood and he did not want to be here with him.

Blackwood pursed his lips, tugged on his earbud, and nodded. “We’ll take care of them,” he said, “Don’t worry.”

“So, what’s the plan?” Martin asked.

“Right,” Blackwood opened the pedestrian gate. “I’ll show you.” he let them all in, almost as if he was counting heads, then took lead, walking them to a storage locker. It felt just like any other storage locker, red-orange door rusting at the edges.

Blackwood unlocked it and pushed the door up and open.

“Kinda dark,” Jon commented, as the light didn’t pierce as far into the room as it should have.

“If you want to try the lights, be my guest,” Blackwood said, digging around in some boxes.

Jon tried the lights. They did not turn on. “What’s up with this place?” he asked.

“This,” Blackwood pulled out a length of rope, “is Gertrude’s personal ‘artefact storage’, I suppose. This concentration of haunted artefacts messes with the electronics. Turn the power off, I don’t want to start a fire.”

Jon complied.

“Right.” Blackwood brandished the rope like a weapon. “Who wants to do the honors?”

“I will.” Tim volunteered. No one else spoke up; none of them were going to take that from him.

“Great,” Blackwood tossed him the rope, “Tie this around your waist.”

“Why?” Jon asked, while Tim just set about doing it.

“So none of the circus freaks tries to grab him and drag him down with them.” Blackwood explained. “Ideally, we’d all be close enough to catch him if the rope snaps, if not…”

“What happens?” Martin asked.

Blackwood shook his head. “Don’t let the rope break.”

That was a good enough answer for them. Tim tied the rope tight around his waist, Jon tied it to a pipe running along the length of the room.

“How long has Gertrude had this place?” Jon asked.

Blackwood tilts his head to the side, listening to Tape-Jon. “Years,” he decided on at last, “A lot of them. She rented it under a fake name. No one knew about it but her. She paid for it far enough in advance that they didn’t notice when she died.”

“The Institute pays well, but not that well,” Tim accused.

“It’s called embezzlement,” Blackwood explained, “A couple people at the Institute are actively embezzling, actually. Most of them in Artefact Storage.”

“Lord knows those people need it,” Martin said.

“Elias encourages it, sort of,” Blackwood said, “You may have noticed that the Institute’s firewalls are pathetically easy to get through. Part of that Voyeur Eye, that.”

“Is there anything here not affected by those  _ things _ .” Tim asked.

“Do you want to know?”

“Oh, damn it,” Tim shook his head. “What is the plan, precisely?”

“I’m going to go greet the Circus, and draw them back here,” Blackwood explained, “Hopefully it’ll be just Orsinov and Sarah, but who knows. I’ll get them all the way in here, one of you will shut the door, the other will open the coffin and Tim will shove them in. Any questions?”

“And when we shove them in,” Jon asked, “What happens then?”

“They fall for a very long time,” Blackwood said, “Then get stuck in the mud, hopefully forever. I don’t see any of them having anchors to haul themselves out with.”

“Anchor, like?” Tim tugged on the rope around his waist. It was tied tight, and might give him internal bleeding if given too hard of a jerk, but it was better than ‘falling for a very long time and then getting stuck in mud.’

“No, no,” Blackwood actually looked on the verge of laughing before he schooled his expression, “It’s more, metaphorical, then that. Dream logic, you know.”

“Dream logic,” Tim rolls his eyes. “Of course.”

“It works,” Blackwood shrugged and checked his watch. “Alright. Go time. You ready?”

“As ready as I will be,” said Jon.

“There’s the spirit.”

And then Blackwood left.

The door closed and left them all in near darkness, the only light coming from Tim’s phone screen. He switched it to flashlight mode and found some probably-haunted-as-shit artefact to put over it as a light diffuser.

“Let’s get this done.” he said.

“I’ll take the coffin,” Martin said. He knew that, if it came down to it, he’d have enough upper body strength to push a carnie in. The same could not be said of Jon, but he could probably shut a door.

A few minutes later, voices came back. It was Blackwood, putting on a buffoon voice, and two women. Probably the Sarah and Orsinov he’d mentioned earlier.

They opened the door and walked in. Sarah, or at least the one Tim assumed was Sarah, looked normal. Brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, wearing jeans and a polo with some shop logo on it. She had three lobe earrings and a cuff.

The other being, Orsinov by process of elimination, clearly took the Circus aesthetic too far. It wore a bright red ringleader’s costume with black sequin cuffs. Its top hat had an obnoxiously fake flower perched on it. And that’s not even mentioning the fact that it didn’t have a face, words came out of it without any motion or indication that it spoke.

Blackwood made eye contact with Jon over Sarah’s shoulder, and he slammed the door shut. At the same time, Martin opened the coffin and Tim shoved them in. In one fluid motion, and more than a little screaming, the Circus freaks were gone.

“Close it, close it, close it,” Blackwood rushed forward and helped Martin slam the lid shut right as something banged on it from the inside.

The whole coffin shook, and Jon and Tim added on to hold it closed with their entire body weight.

“I thought you said they were going to fall down a really long hole,” Jon accused as Blackwood started winding chains around it.

“They will,” he said, “Eventually. It’s, ah, more of a really slippery slope than a hole. But they’re in it now, and it would take a significant amount of power for them to get out.” he tugged the chains tight, and sealed it with a cold iron padlock. Then he added another lock, just for safety.

The thumping stopped, with a sound like wet mud squelching and filling a hole. Tim got the impression that’s what was actually happening. Everyone finally felt safe to take their weight off the thing.

“You lied about how it works.” Tim said.

“I got the feeling you three were in an arguing mood, and I wanted to get through the explanation as fast as possible,” Blackwood said, “Forgive me for skipping over some of the finer details.”

“That they are going to lunge out at us is not a minor detail.” Tim said.

“In my defense,” Blackwood said, always the best way to start a sentence, “Humans are usually compelled to walk down all by themselves. So I’m kinda used to the coffin just being, y’know, one and done. But that evidently was not the case. Sorry for assuming wrong.”

“Well,” Martin interrupted, “If that’s the biggest blip this whole thing has, then I am going to consider us lucky.”

“Oh damn it, Martin,” Tim cursed.

“What?”

“You’ve just invoked Murphy’s law,” he said, “The only way you could have made it worse is if you actually said the words well at least it can’t get-”

“Hey, let’s not tempt fate here,” Blackwood interrupted him before he could actually get the words out himself. “I agree that it feels a bit too easy, but I’m not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Capisce?”

“Caposh.” Martin said back.

“Well,” Blackwood brushed off his trousers, it was probably a nervous tick of his. “I want to apologize for my reaction yesterday. With Sasha, and everything. I got overwhelmed and shut down. Sorry.” 

“What?” Tim glared at the extended hand like it would bite him. 

“My reaction yesterday was not my finest moment,” he repeated. “I was overwhelmed, angry, and I took it out on all of you. And I think you should do more research into Sasha, and I’ll help you as much as I can.”

“Yesterday you said it was impossible,” Jon argued and crossed his arms.

Blackwood shrugged, “That doesn’t mean I was correct,” he said, “Just because it hasn’t been done before doesn’t mean it can’t be done.”

“And what do you suggest?” Tim asked.

“Start by looking into Michael Shelley,” Blackwood said, “That may give you some insights into the Distortion’s motives, for as much as it has motives.”

“Michael Shelley?” Jon repeated, “Like, like that thing yesterday-”

“Yes and no,” Blackwood said, “That both was and was not Michael Shelley. It’s confusing, I know, that’s the whole point. Michael Shelley was one of Gertrude’s assistants.”

Tim shook his head, “Gertrude didn’t have any assistants.”

“Because they all died.” Blackwood said. “I - I was never involved enough in all this Michael stuff to know much more than that. I know he has a personal grudge against the Institute because of Gertrude, but who knows how much of that transferred to the Distortion when Michael was absorbed.”

“Absorbed?” Martin’s voice went up an octave.

“Yeah, ah,” Blackwood shrugged a bit, “I mentioned that usually to stop a ritual some sort of death is involved? Gertrude and Shelley stopped a Spiral ritual. Well, she lied and tricked Shelley, which is pretty par for the course, honestly. She was not a nice woman. As a result, he got schlorped into the Distortion. The mechanics of that are muddled, but I know that some of Michael still remains in it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jon said, “That’s a good starting point, I think.”

“If you need any more help with the research, you can go ahead and ask me.” Blackwood said, “But, I don’t think I can help you with the rescuing itself, though.”

“Why not?” Tim frowned.

“Dream logic,” Blackwood said, “I, I still.” he stopped, “When the Not Them took Sasha, it rewrote everyone’s memories of her. And I- I know that that thing isn’t Sasha, that it never was. I know that this person is Sasha but, really, I only superficially know her. She’s more of a concept to me than a person.”

“And because of the dream logic,” Tim continued, “You wouldn’t have enough of a connection to her to rescue her.”

“Exactly,” Blackwood said. “I, I wouldn’t have my own anchor. More than likely, I’d just get lost myself. And that’s not- It wouldn’t be useful.”

“So, what will you do?” Tim asked.

“Help you out where needed,” Blackwood said. “But mostly? I think I’m going to retire. A little bit more credit fraud here and there to support me. I deserve it.”

“Well,” Jon said, “You have fun with that.”

“I will.” Blackwood said, “And for you, good luck on the research. Also, take Monday off. You guys deserve it.” he waved, and walked away.

“Now we have somewhere to start from.” Tim said. “That’s more than I hoped for.”

“See?” Martin said, “I knew this would make you feel better.”

“Nope, nope,” Tim shook his head, “You are not allowed to say ‘I-told-you-so’ here. That’s not what’s up.”

“Unfortunately,” Jon said, “That’s exactly what’s happening here. You’ll be lucky if he gives up on it before the weekend’s up.”

“Why am I still hanging out with you all,” Tim affectionately rolled his eyes.

“You’re free to leave,” Jon huffed.

There was a police car parked outside the storage unit. The three were just about to walk past it when the driver, a big, burly beast of a woman stepped out. Daisy Tonner, notorious murder cop.

“Martin Blackwood?” she asked in a sharp, clipped tone.

“I- uh - Yes?” Martin stuttered.

“Get in.”

“Pardon?”

“Get in. the car.” she repeated slowly, carefully enunciating all her words.

“I- I’m sorry?” He said again and stood resolutely in place. Jon and Tim grabbed his arms.

Daisy stood like a loaded spring, “If I have to ask you again, things are going to get ugly.”

“Sorry, am I being arrested?” Martin asked, “I don’t understand what all this is.”

Daisy looked him up and down, “Significant evidence has been found linking you to the murder of Gertrude Robinson. Get in the car.” she opened the rear passenger door.

“What? No!” Martin said “That’s, I, no!”

“There’s no way Martin did it,” Jon said.

“I don’t know what this evidence is, but clearly you’ve got it wrong.” Tim added.

Daisy glanced between them, absolutely nothing showing on her face, other than a mild annoyance. “Alright then,” she agreed, “You two are his accomplices.” 

“Wait, what?” Tim asked, “That’s not even-”

“There’s a process to these things.” Martin argued.

“Yes, there is a process.” Daisy said, “Some supernatural shit happens, I get dispatched to clean it up. That’s it, that’s the process.”

“What-but,” Martin shook his head, “That’s not,”

“Not what you had in mind?” Daisy asked, “What, your job reading horror stories convinced you of all the good in the world?”

“No, that’s not-”

“Get in the car.” Daisy repeated, “All of you. Or, of course, you could choose to run away.” she smiled wide, too wide, at the thought of that. Tim got the feeling that she would prefer it if they did run.

“That’s a load of BS,” Tim said, “And besides, don’t you need a partner with you to make an arrest?” he wasn’t sure if that was true, actually. He had seen it in a drama, though, so that had to count for something.

“I do what I need to do,” Daisy said, “Now- what is that?” she jerked her head to look over Jon’s shoulder, and everyone else turned to look as well.

“I- I don’t.” Jon stammered.

“Have you been stalling me?” Daisy was angry now. She rested her hand on her belt and - oh lord that’s a gun. “Giving time for your backups to come?”

“No,” Martin argued, “That’s not with us,” he grabbed Jon’s shoulder and they stumbled away from the door as a unit. It also had the added benefit of getting them further away from Daisy.

The door creaked open slowly, ever so slowly and so, so loudly. Daisy held up her gun, ready to shoot whatever came out.

It was Sasha. Sasha stumbled over the threshold, coughing and holding her side. Her hair was wild, spiraling ringlet curls framing her face and doing their best to reach to the top of the doorframe.

“Who are you?” Daisy demanded, “Answer me.”

“I…” Sasha flipped her hands over, staring at them like she expected them to grow extra bones. “I did it.” she smiled, too wide for her face and a little manic.

“Sasha!” Tim called and ran to her, grabbing her and holding her.

“I-” Sasha stood still, looking shocked as Tim started to sway a little, saying nonsense about how worried he was and such. She settled for patting him on the back twice, rigidly. “There there?”

“Alright, that’s it.” Daisy said. She stalked over to Tim, to grab him by the arm. “I’ve asked politely, get in the car.”

“No!” And Sasha shoved Daisy back.

The thing is, Sasha had always been the tallest one in the Archives, at least a head taller than Tim. Marfan’s, she said, it made her tall and long, but not big. She was built like a twig, all long and willowy.

(And Sasha always felt  _ so much _ taller after a leave of absence.)

(But this might be a bit-)

It was a surprise when Daisy stumbled, warded off just by Sasha’s shove.

It was even more of a surprise when Daisy tripped, unable to regain her balance. What had tripped her was clear after a moment.

A door jamb.

And Daisy tumbled backwards, landing on her rear just inside the bright yellow door that had manifested with Sasha, but not disappeared. It disappeared now, just as Daisy’s face went crimson with anger. They would have heard her hit the door, if it hadn’t disappeared before she had a chance.

“What,” Tim stuttered, now holding Sasha by the arm. “What just happened?”

Jon and Martin ran over soon after, to grab onto Sasha and add their own voices to the joy that she was back.

“How did you-” Jon started, “What was all that?”

Sasha looked a bit off. She smiled at Jon as he spoke, tilted her head to the side. Her curls followed, moving like a broken physics simulator. Of course, the first time she’d met with this being it had messed with her physicality, why would this be any different.

“Here’s not the place,” Tim interrupted, “Let’s all go back to my place.” they called a taxi and left.

Tim opened the door, ushered the other three in. “I think I’ve got popcorn,” Tim said, “We can snack on that while we talk. Anything to drink?”

“I can handle that,” Martin said. “And, ah, you two can go get settled?” he looked at Jon, who was now the one taking up the task of guiding Sasha by the arm.

“Yeah, we’ll just, yeah,” Jon agreed.

Sasha pulled her arm away from him, “I can walk, you know,” she had a bit of a giggle in her voice, like she’d been on laughing gas. She proved this by walking a few steps, all of her own power, though with more of a saunter than usual. If Tim didn’t know better, he’d assume Sasha was wearing her heels that were for costume only.

(She was quite tall,)

(No, she’s just wearing tennis shoes.)

They sat her down on the sofa, with Tim beside her, Jon and Martin squeezing in the other chair together. No offense to Tim’s floor, but the first bowl of popcorn they’d tried to pass over had slipped through Sasha’s hands and made a mess of the floor. That’s fine, they still have two other bowls. No one wants to take the time to clean, at any rate.

“Sasha, what happened?” Jon asked.

“We were running,” she said with a lilt to her voice, “From the Stranger. Ah, the taxidermy, the Trophy Room.” she nodded.

“What happened after you two split up?” Tim prodded when she seemed to end her story there.

“Yes, split up,” Sasha mused, “There was a Door. I had taken the Doors as a shortcut before, so I thought it would be fine. Then I was stuck.”

“You’ve used the doors before?” Martin asked, “Sasha, that’s so dangerous.”

“But the Doors are so  _ cool _ .” Sasha said, and threw her arm out suddenly enough that she caught Tim across the neck. It was fine, she didn’t do any real harm. “They’re just, they’re so big. And there’s no end, it doesn’t matter how long you go or what you do, there’s just so much and you can just keep walking and walking, and no two things are ever the same! There’s always just so much more to discover, just keep looking and seeing more.”

The three who were not Sasha glanced among themselves. They all seemed reasonably disturbed by that answer.

“Sasha?” Tim asked, “You do realize how long you were in there, right?”

“Oh, I could have been in there forever and never reached the end!” She declared. “I wonder, can something without an end have a beginning? Or a middle? I suppose not, because the middle is the beginning minus the end over two, isn’t it? Oh, no, I’ve got it flipped, haven’t I? But a circle has a middle, and circles don’t have a beginning or an end. They just go on forever, turning left and left and left...”

“Seventeen hours, Sasha,” Jon reported after doing the maths in his head. “Sasha, you were in there for seventeen hours.”

“Was I?” Sasha held up her slender fingers and tried counting on them, but then realized she didn’t have enough fingers, and she didn’t know what she was counting in any case. “It was so long, but then again, time is made up isn’t it? It’s just the words we use to prescribe to our own experience of the universe. I wonder, how would a being that experiences the universe separate from ours describe time? Would it be like how we experience depth? To us depth is so simple, but to a two-dimensional being it’s absolutely unthinkable.”

“We’re glad you’re back, Sasha, Martin said, “But, are you feeling alright?”

“Why would you even ask that?” Sasha whined it, almost demanded it of him. “Do you know what a Mobius Strip is?” she asked, almost as quickly as her mood had changed before.

“Yeah,” Tim said, because he’s had one teacher in secondary that had been all too happy to go off on tangents, “It’s some kind of shape, yeah?”

“A one-dimensional shape,” Sasha said, “It goes on forever and ever, looping and looping, but it only ever has one dimension. Just a line, no width or depth. A Mobius strip doesn’t have a beginning or an end, it doesn’t even enclose a shape like a circle does. Does a mobius strip have a middle? Or does it just exist, uncaring of whatever landmarks we’d like to place on it?”

“Sasha,” Tim grabs her shoulder until she turns to look at him. “How did you get out of the hallways? They said it was impossible.”

“Impossible’s just a word.” Sasha said, then opened her mouth to go on another tangent.

“No, Sash, this is important.” Tim interrupted her, squeezing her arm. “How did you get out?”

“I found the middle.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope yall enjoyed!

**Author's Note:**

> It's a time travel AU! This idea hit me at terminal velocity, so I just had to go along with it.  
> I'm probably going to post this weekly on Fridays. Right now I have a bit of a buffer built up, but sometimes school might get in the way.  
> If you want to talk to me online, my tumblr is @storm-does-stuff and I'd love to chat!  
> Hope yall enjoyed!


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